THE CAROLINA CONNECTION Book 2 Part 3 - LIFE: VACATION
by Singing Silverwings
Summary: Gibbs and Tony's team have a terrific opportunity to have a fabulous vacation - all expenses paid. But their trip turns out to be more than anyone ever dreamed possible! COMPLETE and posted. Please Review? Thanks so very much! I sure hope you enjoy this! 'Wings
1. Chapter 1

.

NCIS

The Carolina Connection Series

Book 2 part 3

LIFE: VACATION

Chapter 1

Molly was studying him again. For this whole last week, her eyes had followed him wherever he went. She'd sit, brown eyes slightly narrowed, head slightly tilted, just studying him and for the life of him, he couldn't figure out why.

Gibbs just sighed. When she had whatever it was settled in her mind, she'd tell him – and there was no need to ask before that. She'd just shrug and smile as she brushed it off, deflecting it smoothly.

A few days later, Molly spied Jethro headed in the direction of the bullpen, jumped up from her desk and caught him by the hand as he got as close as the elevator.

Jethro gave her one of his small crooked smiles, turned his head just slightly to one side and looked at her with a certain spark in his blue eyes. Tipping his head a tiny bit toward the elevator, Molly smiled and nodded.

In his original 'private office', they shared a long kiss, then Jethro asked in a low throaty voice as he held her close, his warm hand sensually running slowly up and down her back with the perfect amount of pressure, "You finally gonna tell me what you've been up to?"

Molly's smile was like sunshine to his soul. "I've been tryin' to figure out how to get you to take some time off so we can go on vacation somewhere together. We both have plenty of time on the books, not to mention all the comp time since nobody around here ever takes a vacation or time off. What do you think?"

Jethro wrapped strong arms around her with a small sigh. "Molly, I'd really like to go somewhere with ya – but, I'm sorta overloaded right now. " He felt her enthusiastic hope diminish by the feel of her body against him.

Molly went along with it, not wanting to cause him any distress over making a choice. She just hoped that work wouldn't always interfere.

Pressing herself tightly against him with a little wiggle, she asked coyly, "Not gonna be late gettin' off tonight, are ya?"

"Nothing less than a full-scale invasion of the country will keep me here. Watcha got in mind?" There was that evil little smile again.

"Ohhhh, I don't know. Just another borin' ol' night at home, I guess. Unless you can think of somethin'." Moving against him, her hands slowly roaming over his back in that one certain way, he was responding a _whole_ lot more than was good when he'd momentarily have to return to public view.

Smiling in his kiss against her lips, he responded, "I'll see what I can do. But if you don't stop what you're doin', this elevator is gonna be out of service for a long time."

Molly sighed as she smiled, her lips never leaving his. "Ummmm, that might be alright, too. Been too long."

"Since this morning?"

"Yeah."

"I agree. But now - - I've got a problem. _You_ go stand over there on that side and _I'll_ stand over here a minute."

Molly grinned, teasing him, "Hm. Need any help with that?"

Jethro sent the best glare he was able to muster at the moment. "Molly," he growled. "Here. You go back. I'll - go get - coffee or something."

"But you have a perfectly good coffee machine in your office."

"Go!"

The elevator doors opened, Molly stepped out and looked back with sparkling eyes and a private smile as the doors quickly closed again.

Molly returned to her desk with some of that smile still lingering.

Tony looked at her with a smirk. "I think the Consultant and Special Assistant to the Director should have a private office of his own, don't you think, guys? One that is a lot bigger than an elevator. He could probably put whatever furniture he wanted in it, a big leather couch, even a nice coffee machine, maybe. What do you think, Tim?"

Tim grinned. "I think I'll keep my mind right here on my computer and thereby keep myself out of trouble. Which you should consider, as well, Supervisory Senior Special Agent DiNozzo."

Molly just smiled, adding no comment as she set about returning to work.

When Gibbs returned with coffee, he silently put a cup on the desk of each one of the team, pausing a moment, giving his wife a long look that dared her to make any comment whatsoever. She had to giggle; just couldn't hold it in. With a snort, Gibbs continued walking to wherever he was going.

Tony laughed hard, trying to muffle it with little success. Tim had a big grin but disciplined himself to focus only on his computer. Jon had his head down with a big hand over his mouth and refused to look up.

* * *

Gibbs and Morrow had their daily briefing with each other. It usually didn't take long since each kept the other updated anyway.

Business complete, the two men just sat and talked a while. Morrow was practically euphoric with the working relationship the two had. He no longer felt constantly pressured to try to keep his eye on everything, knowing that Gibbs would handle his responsibilities and assignments. If there were a problem or a potential problem, Gibbs would tell him.

The entire agency was benefitting, and it was showing in every way that was measurable, not to mention those that could only be seen or heard, even in written reports, it was there.

The various offices scattered all over the globe seemed to be doing well, especially the one in Athens now under the leadership of the new Supervisory Senior Agent Carolyn Daughtry. She was perfect for the position though she had been reluctant to leave her MCRT team here in DC. Gibbs was still taking applications to fill her vacated position so until a choice was made, Carolyn's SFA was in charge of Team Three and seemed to be doing well.

John 'Rocky' Balboa, leader of Team Two, hadn't applied for the Athens position. "I'm happy where I am," he'd said when asked. There was a twinkle in his eyes as he added, "Besides, where else would I get to watch the daily sideshow that is our esteemed MCRT Team 1?"

Morrow asked, "How's Mac?"

"Good. Not all that happy right now. Your fault."

"What did _I_ do?"

"She wanted to go on a vacation - honeymoon or something. Told her why I couldn't."

"Uh oh! You didn't even take her on a _honeymoon_?"

"Had one at home."

"That hardly qualifies, Gibbs!"

"Didn't hear any complaints."

With a chuckle, Morrow commented, "Now I begin to have some understanding of your previous marital difficulties."

"Bye, Tom."

Morrow laughed as Gibbs left his office with a silent chuckle.

* * *

But the truth of the matter was that Gibbs wasn't all that interested in going anywhere. He was perfectly happy where he was.

He'd seen enough in the combat situations he'd endured in service. He was still struggling with some of the ideology that was drilled into him as a scout sniper. He had been desocialized to enable him to accomplish all those the missions he was constantly assigned, one right after the other. Feelings weren't good things - keep them under control at all times. Better yet, don't have any at all.

That's partly why he had fallen so hard for Molly. Somehow, she had wormed her way underneath all that and discovered the real Jethro hiding beneath all those layers of training and hard-learned lessons in war conditions, PTSD and in life itself.

Like Shannon, Molly had an uncanny ability to cut through all that crap, to draw him out and let him be his natural self. He could no more stop either one of them from doing it than he could flap his arms and fly. As each of those strong women were and are without pretenses of any sort, what-you-see-is-what-you-get women, he could be the same with them. He could be just Jethro. Just - Jethro.

Jethro had an inborn boyishness about him, a certain shyness that appeared now and then, that caused the first and the last Mrs. Gibbs to smile a certain smile that came straight from their hearts. He was completely irresistible to them in spite of his flaws and faults.

He was a strong, vital man who had an amazingly powerful presence that made each of them feel so warmly protected and safe as if his one mission in life was to take care of them. Maybe he really felt that way that could be another reason the deaths of Shannon and Kelly left him so dysfunctional for so many long years. Guilt overwhelmed him because he believed that he had failed in protecting them, keeping them safe, even though he was overseas when it happened. He steadfastly refused to accept that as an answer or excuse.

As Molly could happily testify, he was also a stunningly virile man who was surprisingly sensual, who wanted to tuck her in closely against him before his eyes finally closed in sleep. His love-making often had a touch of playfulness, and he loved to tease her, enjoying her reactions with that devastating evil little smile that invariably made an appearance accompanied by sparkling blue eyes.

But two could play that game and Molly learned to give as good as she got so the two were totally delighted with each other and nothing ever grew boring between them. They really were a perfect match.

* * *

Some time later, while working on a cold case, Molly went to the Pentagon to have a look at some files that may shed some light on several things. The army captain she met with wasn't all that forthcoming, as if the information she wanted was vital to national security and she really had to work to finally get what she needed. She'd thought she was going to have to put Roger on him to get the info she needed.

By the time she and the big shepherd were leaving, she was a little out of sorts and just wanted to get something cold to drink and take a short, quiet break somewhere.

* * *

Kenneth Murchison was a smart man who gained experiences in many avenues of life from the time he had his first lemonade stand when he was a kid back in Oklahoma.

But by the time he reached his teens, he knew what he wanted to do with his life: he wanted to fly airplanes. He saw the United States Air Force as the avenue to do that. He easily secured his appointment to the Academy with a 3.9 GPA, an Eagle Scout certification, and a solid record as a youngster who worked hard on community projects.

Tall, angular, slim to the point of being skinny, the teen worked at the local airport doing any odd jobs he could find to earn a little flight time, during which he took the first humble steps toward achieving his goal.

Graduating from the Air Force Academy near the top of his class, the always smiling, easy-going, folksy Lt. K. D. Murchison began a career in the service of his country, accumulating awards and medals along the way, making friends by the hundreds.

Kenneth would never be described as handsome, but there was something in his personality that negated appearance to the point that his looks were not even noticed. It was the warmth and genuine friendliness that radiated out around him that drew people to him. Being in his company for even a few minutes made a person feel as if he had been life-long friends with the tall, skinny Oklahoman.

Retired from the Air Force, Kenneth was now one of the top executives with Gulfstream Aviation, headquartered in Falls Church, Virginia, but whose facilities were located all over the world. On this day, he had had a meeting with the Secretary of Defense, the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff and several other people.

The military was very interested in having more of the Gulfstream 650 ER (extended range) aircraft. The jet's speed and range made it a perfect aircraft for certain key government people to have available, as well as for miscellaneous situations that arose, as well.

Kenneth had just made a presentation to them, acquainting them with all facets of the world's fastest business jet, maintenance facilities, and what Gulfstream itself was willing to throw in to sweeten the deal. He knew that there wasn't a comparable aircraft available anywhere in the world, in fact, not even on drawing boards yet. Gulfstream had hit a grand slam with the 650.

As Marine General Nathan Nicholson, current Chairman of the JCOS, walked through the polished corridors of the Pentagon with Murchison, Kenneth spied a familiar figure ahead of them.

A big smile crossed his face as he called out, "Hey, Mac! Wait up!"

Molly turned with surprise at hearing her name. "Kenneth! What on earth are you doin' here?" she asked happily as she disentangled herself from his long-armed hug that lifted her easily off the floor.

Roger patiently sat beside her, watching the humans as they talked.

"Just had a meetin' with some folks here. This is General Nicholson, Chairman of the Joint Chiefs. General, this beautiful lady is Molly MacKenzie, formerly with DEA, now a Special Agent with NCIS, and my former student. Flies anything with wings on it."

A brief moment of pleasantries, Kenneth said, "Mac, I got a deal I wanna propose. I gotta get a 650 based at Reagan out to the Vegas facility for some specialty work the owner wants done on it - and I'm short of pilots right now. Ya interested in the job? We can sure make it worth your while."

Molly grinned, "Ken, you don't even have to sweeten the pot. I'll have to see if I can get the time off - and Jethro, my husband - and the guy who will be my copilot."

"That's fine. Take whoever you like. It'll take about a week to get everything done, so you'll be our guest while you're there. Then, you can bring it back to DC. How's that?"

Molly's face was beaming. "You got yourself a deal, mister! Dependin' on if I can get time off for the three of us. And, it's been awhile since I've flown one, so I'll wantcha to take me around the field a few times to get me current."

"Great! I know I can always count on you to bail me out, girl! Call me as soon as you know and I'll schedule the shop time for it in Vegas. Got any special hotel you like?"

"Nope. Just so long as they got a good poker table!"

Murchison laughed. "I had lunch with SecNav not long ago and heard about your famous games in that case you were on. Classic! Didn't know you could play like that."

Molly smiled, but her face turned pink. "I'll call soon as I know."

The General spoke up, "Would that be Jethro _Gibbs_ , ma'am?"

"One and the same, sir. You know him?"

A big grin split the spiffy Marine General's face. "Oh, yeah! Give Gunny my regards, will you?"

"Yessir! He'll be happy to hear from you."

After leaving the two, she and Roger hurried back to the Jeep, her high ponytail swinging from the new bounce in her step. Her mind was running at warp speed all the way back to the office. Oh, boy! This was gonna be perfect! Okay, how was she going to get this done? Before she knew it, she was walking off the elevator into the large squad room. How did she get here, she wondered.

Then she saw McGee working away at his desk. Oh, wait a minute. What if - - ?

She turned around, got back on the elevator and headed to HR. Tony noticed but mentally shrugged and shook his head. MollyMac was obviously on some unknown mission. He'd find out about it whenever she was ready.

Down in HR, Molly saw the lady she needed to talk to. "Hey, Delores! How ya doin'?"

"Hey, Mac. Good. How's that ornery husband of yours?"

"Ornery," she answered with a grin and a shrug. "Do you have time to see how much vacation or comp time Tim McGee has?"

"Everybody on that team has gobs of time accrued, even the new guy. Never take vacations! But I can get the exact numbers, if you want."

"No. That's okay. Just so there's at least a week available. Thanks, Delores!"

Back in the elevator, she considered her next move and took a deep breath. Then, on the floor of the bullpen, she scooted past her team, throwing out a quick "Hi, guys!" as she headed up stairs, Roger matching her, step for step.

She opened the Director's outer office door a crack, peeked inside and whispered, "Paulette, is Jethro in there?" pointing to the Director's office.

"Nope. He's in MTAC, I think. Need to see the Director?"

"If he has time, please."

A quick murmured call and Paulette smiled, "Go on in, Mac. He'll be with you in just a minute."

"Thanks!"

Quietly opening the office door, Molly took a seat and rubbed Roger's favorite spot behind his right ear while the Director finished his phone conversation with his son.

Putting the phone back in its cradle, Director Morrow smiled, asking, "What can I do for you, Mac?"

"Oh, Director Morrow, thanks for seein' me! I - I've got a chance to take a jet out to Las Vegas for Gulfstream, be there all week while they do things to it - as Gulfstream's guest! - then bring it back here. A whole week in Vegas free just for ferrying the airplane there and back!"

"But, I need a co-pilot so Tim will need to go with me. And Jethro, of course! We've - never been anywhere together except at first when those people were after me - and I'd really, really like to be able to go - if you think it'd be okay. But, of course, if you don't, I understand..."

"You've never even been on a honeymoon, have you?"

A little embarrassed, Molly's face turned a little pink that he knew that.

"No, sir. Jethro - "

"I know. Thicker than a plank sometimes. Let me have a quick look-see and I'll see what we can do, okay?"

"Thank you, Director! Thank you very much!"

Then she was out the door and gone, practically flying down the stairs to the bullpen. Three sets of eyes were fastened on her by the time she sat at her desk with sparkling eyes and a smile that would put the sun to shame.

She didn't know what to say to them so she just kept quiet. No need to get Tim's hopes up if they couldn't go.

Finally, Tony asked, "MollyMac? What's up?"

"Uh - um, nothin', Tony. Not yet - I mean - nothin'."

Now eyes were narrowed as they studied her face, looking for a clue as to what she was up to. Molly dug out her case file and opened it, determined to make herself stay quiet until she knew for sure. She opened the file she had gotten from the Pentagon and began to compare info between the two.

Her desk phone rang. "Special Agent MacKenzie...Oh, yes sir!...We CAN?... _ALL_ of us?... Oh, wow! Thank you, Director! I'll tell them!"

Hanging up, she announced with a laugh, "We're goin' to VEGAS! Isn't that great?"

Quickly she dialed a number memorized years ago. "Ken! Yes! We can go! We just need a few days to process paperwork...Yeah, that should be fine...Okay, when can you give me a check ride?" She looked at her watch, "Hang on, I'll see."

Holding the phone away from her ear, she asked, "Tony, if nothing comes up, may Tim and I leave a little early. I need to quick refresher checkride this afternoon, if that's alright, and Tim needs to be there."

Still trying to put all the pieces together, Tony's green eyes had studied his youngest teammate and said slowly, "If - that's what you need, MollyMac. You'll let the rest of us know what's going on?"

Nodding, she went back to the phone, "Ken? Yes! I can be there in - probably thirty minutes. That work for you?...Great!...See you then!"

Tony sat back in his chair. "Now, MollyMac!" he ordered.

So happy she could hardly sit still, she told them the news. "Now the only one I need to tell is Jethro but I can't interrupt him right now."

"Need to tell me what, Molly?"

She hadn't heard or seen Gibbs leave MTAC and he was as good as ever at sneaking up on people.

Getting up from her desk, she threw her arms around him and said enthusiastically, "We're goin' to Las Vegas, Jethro! For a whole week! Isn't that fantastic?"

It was clear by the less than enthralled expression on his face that the Senior Special Agent did not quite share her elation. "We are?" There was no smile and his blue eyes were narrowed.

"Yes, and I can play lots of poker!"

"Poker?"

"Yeah! You remember that I play poker, I know."

"Uh huh. Uh - can we go upstairs a minute and discuss this?"

The smile began to fade from her face as she asked much quieter, "You don't want to go, Jethro? I thought it'd be a great time for us to finally have a hon.."

Gibbs became aware that there was a rather large audience of agents listening raptly to all this. He pointed upward and told her, "Upstairs. Now."

He charged on up the stairs in his usual two-steps-at-a-time habit, leaving Molly and Roger to trail along behind him.

Molly was chagrined. Well, now she'd made Jethro mad. And she'd have to call Ken back and tell him the deal was off and tell her team...well, they'd probably figured it out on their own by now.

Jethro was already seated at his big desk when she opened the door. She couldn't read his expression. He was looking at her with his head turned just slightly to the side, head tipped a little, those blue eyes veiled as they bored into her.

"Sorry, Jethro. I guess I should have checked with you first. It seemed like such a great opportunity for all of us. I'll - call Ken back and tell him I can't go. Didn't mean to make you mad."

She turned to leave when Morrow's hand-picked Consultant and Special Assistant said quietly, "Molly. C'mere."

Swallowing hard to keep her disappointed tears from spilling over, she reluctantly turned back. Gibbs stood and walked around to the front of the desk, gently taking her in his arms.

"You wanna back up and start all over? I didn't have a clue what you were talkin' about downstairs."

She told him all that had transpired, but her tone of voice told him that she knew he didn't want to go so she'd just cancel the trip. "It's okay. We can go another time, maybe."

"And turn down a free, all-expenses paid trip to Vegas for a week, where my wife can make a fortune playing poker? Transportation back and forth in a private jet? I think I can handle that, if I can convince my wife to go, that is."

Molly blinked her glistening eyes rapidly as she tried to clear her vision. "You - you mean it, Jethro? You'll really go?"

"Yeah. I take it that you've cleared everything with Tom?"

"Yes! He even released Tony and Jon so they can go, too!"

"Okay. Well, lemme ask you something. Exactly how many people are goin' on this honeymoon with us? Just askin', ya understand."

Molly giggled, kissed him, then said, "Gotta go! Ken is givin' me a refresher checkride this afternoon! I'll be home later!"

And she was out the door, still giggling happily, Roger prancing along right behind her.

Tony held out his hand, saying, "Told you! Pay up, boys. Never bet against MollyMac."

* * *

Exactly fours days later, four excited people and Gibbs stowed their main bags in the jet's belly cargo space and climbed aboard. Gulfstream had even catered the aircraft's galley with superior fresh sandwiches, beautiful platters of chilled cut fruit, a variety of finger foods and beverages for them. Even before take-off, Gibbs had the coffee pot brewing. There wasn't a coffee machine on Planet Earth he couldn't operate.

Jonathan was still pinching himself. _'Man! This team knows how to live!'_ he told himself, still barely able to convince himself that he wouldn't wake up to find himself asleep at his desk, about to be shot with one of Tony's stealth spitballs.

After Molly's check ride, Ken had presented Tim and her with official Gulfstream flight crew uniform shirts that had epaulets on the shoulders with four black-and-gold stripes for Captain Molly MacKenzie, according the embroidered name above her left shirt pocket, and three stripes for First Officer Tim McGee, according to the name above his pocket.

Both agreeing with laughter that they'd wear coordinating navy blue pants on the flight as a joke to freak out their teammates, telling them they had accepted employment with Gulfstream as pilots.

But watching the pair out the many windows of the jet as they went about their business, it would be no stretch of the imagination to accept them as just that as they made their slow, careful exterior preflight inspection of the breathtakingly beautiful aircraft.

Having already filed her flight plan with the FAA which included the names of all Souls On Board, Molly then met with a mechanic who held the ship's log, pointing out to her everything that he had observed, examined, checked and serviced before he signed it off. Handing the log and the fuel slip to her, he smiled as he gave her a quick two-fingered salute, then moved his equipment and tools away. The aircraft was now officially hers to command.

She and Tim boarded the jet then Tim closed and secured the door before joining Molly in the cockpit. Even though he knew he was there only to handle the radio and assist with the navigation, he couldn't help but experience chills that raced over him as he adjusted the right seat to suit him and fastened the safety harness securely. This was so - _real._

It had now soberly dawned on the passengers in the cabin that instead of an airline crew, it was their _teammates_ who were actually going to _fly_ this thing all the way to Las Vegas - and their lives were in their hands! We're talking about _Tim_ who is afraid of heights as well as their resident geek - and sweet, little, innocent _Molly_ who wasn't bigger than a minute.

Jethro, Tony and Jon buckled themselves in and now leaned out into the aisle to watch through the open cockpit door, increasingly impressed and awed, as their teammates performed flawlessly as a different kind of team. They couldn't hear exact words, but they could hear Tim calling out things he read from a large laminated card as Molly's hands danced with quick certainty across row upon row of switches, dials, and buttons, bringing the big jet to life.

For a moment, Jethro choked back an enormously strong rush of unimaginable pride in her as radios began to chatter into the headsets that both pilots wore, then momentarily one engine whined into life and in seconds was blasting out unimaginable power behind the jet, quickly followed by the second.

Her small hands on the silver throttles protruding from the center console, Molly followed the yellow wands of the plane marshall directing them out of the tight parking quarters of the hardstand out toward the taxiway.

Tim could be seen speaking into a microphone as he jotted down info, tore it off a pad that was now attached to his left thigh just above his knee by a velcro strap and placed it on the center panel where Molly could see it. It contained the directions from Ground Control as to which taxiways they were to use, where they were to hold position, radio frequencies of the tower and Departure Control after they took off. They seemed to be working as smoothly as an experienced cockpit crew even though this was Tim's first venture into a world this fancy and fast-moving. And he had thought video games were at the top of the heap!

For the last two days, Molly had gone over all this with him repeatedly, showing him the small differences between radio coms in the jet and in Charlie. She had folded all his nav charts for him in the sequence they would be needed and had gone over every inch of them with him. He knew exactly where to look for what.

The aerial navigation system is like a network of invisible highways in the sky, connected by named 'intersections'. Flying at assigned altitudes on assigned routes, intersection by intersection, is what guides any aircraft from point A to Point B, safely and without incident through terribly crowded skies.

Thanks to his intelligent mind, Tim grasped it quickly, though he still felt a little overwhelmed by the prospect. He still had the comfort to know that she was there to bail him out if he messed up or floundered. He knew she could fly this airplane without him; his presence simply made it easier.

As soon as Molly called for the Before Start checklist and they began the familiar ritual, his nervousness fell away. He knew how to do this. There may be more switches and stuff, but it was still the same general procedure he would use with little 56-Charlie or any other aircraft; there are certain procedural steps to be taken before starting any engine.

They taxied according to the instructions he had written as given by the Ground Controller. Once in position behind other traffic waiting for takeoff, they were handed off to the Control Tower and given their immediate instructions - which basically was to trundle along obediently behind those in front of them in line and wait their turn.

At this point, Tim's voice came over the cabin PA, saying, "Buckle up, guys. Seat backs upright. That goes for you, too, Tony! We should be touching down in Vegas about five hours after takeoff. Unless I get us lost, then, it's anybody's guess... Ouch!" His voice changed from a mostly joking tone to one of complete surprise. "She just headslapped me!"

There was one thing Molly had always wanted to do and decided that she may never have another chance to do it after this - so she was going to do it! The air was cool for this time of day and very dry. That would provide a lot of lift in a hurry. With a small smile, she told Tim, "Flaps, two." The combination of these elements with powerful engines would allow the nearly empty airplane to climb like a homesick angel - and it would be beautiful to see!

In time, they made their way to the head of the line, taxied onto the active runway and Tim heard, "Gulfstream one niner Foxtrot, cleared for takeoff, contact Departure Control on 121.05, good day, sir."

He was pleased to hear his voice calmly and smoothly repeat the instructions back perfectly. Giving Molly the verifying information that they were cleared for take-off, he placed his hand behind hers as he had seen Murchison do as she pushed both throttles forward and the jet started rolling, rapidly increasing in speed, as Tim read out aircraft speeds to her, announced V-1*, then a moment later, V-2* at which point she pulled back on the yoke and a moment later when positive climb was established, ordered, "Gear up."

The nose pointed upward and never wavered as there was nothing but clear blue sky ahead of them until they reached ten thousand feet at which altitude they had to have additional clearance before they could climb again.

::

to be continued

::

* * *

Author's Notes:

*Pre-determined speeds calculated before every take-off:

V1: The speed beyond which the takeoff can no longer be safely aborted. At that point, the plane has to fly because there is not enough runway left to be able to stop.

V2: Takeoff safety speed. The speed at which the aircraft may safely become airborne with one engine inoperative.

* * *

If you'd like to see what the Gulfstream 650 looks like, go to wwwdotgulfstreamdotcom/aircraft/gulfstream-g650 It's really a big airplane for a private jet; right at 100 ft long nose to tail. The cabin is big, too.

And, before you ask, no, I do not work for Gulfstream. They just happen to be the manufacturer of the aircraft I needed for this story. :-) Also, I took a bit of literary license with some of the technicalities of aviation realities to simplify things a bit, but 95% of it is correct. I hope you enjoy it; I tried to keep most of the more technical and complicated aspects out of it. How did I do? Were things easy enough to understand and follow?


	2. Chapter 2

.

NCIS

The Carolina Connection Series

Book 2 Part 3

LIFE: VACATION

Chapter 2

Molly called, "Flaps 1."

Tim acknowledged as he moved the lever to the ordered position. "Flaps 1."

He had learned all this on Molly's refresher ride. Like Molly, Ken Murchison's quiet, folksy manner made learning all of it so easy as the Gulfstream rep flew as co-pilot for Molly. He knew what to do and what to say in response to Molly's commands.

"Flaps zero."

"Flaps zero."

At ten thousand feet, power was pulled back to maintain that altitude until they were released to climb to their assigned cruise altitude of 41,000 feet. Then the jet again aimed for the sun, climbing so sharply and powerfully they were pressed back into their seats.

What a magnificent feeling! What an experience!

Leveled off at altitude, Tim turned off the Seat Belt sign and exchanged a grin with the woman in the left seat. She reduced power and set the engines to maintain 41,000 then programmed some navigation information into the state-of-the-art equipment in front of them.

In the back, Tony half-whispered, " _Damn!_ _That was_ _BOSS!_ _"_

In the seat across the aisle from him, a grinning Gibbs said quietly but with definite emphasis, "Damn right!" Dynamite couldn't have blasted the smile off his face.

Jon had never had so much fun in his life. His grin would probably stay there for the foreseeable future

With nav info fully entered into that computer, the jet could quite easily fly itself every inch of the way. If she entered the landing information, the plane could even land itself - just as many airliners have been able to do since the eighties.

But she wanted this flight time to gain more experience in actual hand-flying the jet. That would also give Tim the chance to gain experience with all that was involved in flying long-distance from point A to point B manually. The radio experience alone would be invaluable to him.

Molly smiled at him, so proud of the very professional way he handled himself. No controller would ever guess that this was his first experience in this type of flight and aircraft. The team in the cockpit exchanged a happy high five.

Tim never dreamed he'd one day be doing this, but here he was. With a real uniform shirt to prove it. In a boyish way, he wished everybody could see him right now, to know what he was doing. Then, nobody would _ever_ make fun of him again!

* * *

Later, Molly told Tim to go stretch his legs a bit and take a break. She had put the controls on AutoPilot for a bit to give herself a break, too. It was intense mental work to fly entirely by hand for hours on end.

When he left the cockpit, Gibbs, Tony and Jon gave him a big hand which caused Tim's fair-complected face to turn bright red.

Then, Tony stood with his hand extended. "Fantastic job, McProfessionalFlyboy! I'm so proud of you!"

Tim's grin stuck to his face as if Tony had super-glued it there.

Jon stood, pumping his hand enthusiastically, saying, "Tim, I tell ya, man, I'm gonna remember this flight for the rest of my life! You and Mac have stepped up to _rockstar_ status!"

Tim's face blazed brighter than ever, and he ducked his head in embarrassment. He had no idea how to deal with such praise. He'd never been noticed like this before, but he sure liked it.

With a handshake, Gibbs deflected his unease by saying quietly, "Real good job, Tim. You've worked hard to reach this point in your flyin'. Got some sandwiches and stuff here. Want some?"

"Ahh, yeah. Yeah, that'd be nice. Didn't realize I was hungry until you mentioned it."

A couple of big sandwiches, a taste of some of the great finger-food, two cups of coffee and a bathroom trip later, Tim returned to the cockpit.

Molly smiled as he buckled himself in then she reached over and brushed some crumbs from his face. "Good food back there?"

"Yeah, real good! Gulfstream sure didn't go cheap on the grub!"

Molly nodded. "They don't go cheap on anything. I can't wait to see our rooms! Ken said someone would meet us at the airport and take us to the hotel. I don't even know which one it is!"

She stretched her arms high over her head. "I need a break. Think I'll go check out some of that food while there's still something left!"

Tim's face blanched. "Molly! You can't - I mean - I don't know what - "

"Tim, it's on AutoPilot. All you have to do is handle the radios just as you have been and adjust headings as ATC gives them. See ya shortly."

Receiving a standing ovation from the three passengers, Molly blushed pink but was thrilled at the light in her husband's face and eyes.

All three of them had loved the almost vertical climbs she had made. She laughingly admitted she hadn't been able to resist the urge. The jet was more than capable of it, especially under the conditions they had at the time.

Gibbs couldn't even tell Molly how extraordinarily proud of her he was. But looking into her eyes, he knew she saw it on his face. So often, words weren't necessary between them.

She sat with her teammates and enjoyed some terrific food; everything was fresh and hand-prepared. Oh, it was good, especially the tray of chilled fruit! The coffee was good, too, and she felt new energy flooding through her after the respite.

A visit to the restroom and she returned to the cockpit, much to Tim's relief. She was right; he had only had to handle the radio and enter new headings, but he was much more comfortable with her right where she was now!

It wasn't long before they began the process of descending, going from one assigned altitude down to a lower one, then lower and lower. They would soon be on the ground in Vegas.

Molly picked up the PA. "Secure the galley back there and buckle up. Won't be long now!"

The radio coms became more and more frequent and more detailed as they were given vectors to merge them into the congested flow of landing traffic. Tim was busy - and loved every minute of it!

Again, three heads were angled out into the aisle so they could watch as Captain MacKenzie and First Officer McGee flew the approach and brought the sleek jet in for a soft landing. Then they taxied to the Gulfstream facilities on the field at McCarran International Airport, Las Vegas, Nevada.

After-Landing checklist complete, Molly followed the directions of the Ground Controller, then the wands of the Gulfstream plane marshall who directed them to the place they were to shut down and park.

As the parking brakes were set and the engines spooled down to silence, Tim nearly had tears in his eyes from the depth of his emotions. He and Molly followed the final shut-down checklist and the flight was complete.

He left his seat and opened the door. Molly secured the last items in the cockpit and joined Tim in the doorway, smiling as a Gulfstream rep, clipboard in hand, waited until the door was fully open then he bounded up the stairs with a big friendly smile and an outstretched hand.

"Welcome to Vegas, Captain! Rob Johnson. Good flight?"

"Smooth as silk, Rob. I'm Molly MacKenzie, First Officer Tim McGee." Johnson warmly shook their hands.

"You made good time. Well, if you're ready to - - "

The sound of sharp cracks interrupted him ...

* * *

Early that morning as the sun broke over the mountains pouring the first rays of gold in the Las Vegas Valley, Jamil and Sameer Abadi waited quietly behind a large trash dumpster. They were nervous but determined to do this. They had come too far to quit now.

There was no other way for them to carry out the mission their hearts cried for. So many of their brothers were fighting to the death in their home country, trying to rid the land of the endless series of merciless tyrants who ruled so brutally over them. Warlords, drug lords - one after the other, whoever had the biggest army, or the most weapons, or the most money to buy support. The freedom fighters needed money and lots of it to combat them. And they needed many willing hands to help them fight.

As soon as the huge Wells Fargo armored truck lumbered into the alleyway, they readied themselves. One Security Guard opened the rear door as the other walked toward the casino service door where they would roll out carts loaded with money bags belonging to the casino. Before the guard reached the door, Jamil took aim and dropped the man in his tracks with one shot to the back of the head.

Before the second guard, at the back of the truck where he had opened the rear doors, could reach for his weapon, Sameer's shot dropped him to the dirty alleyway pavement. Then the Abadi brothers rushed to the back of the armored truck and began shoving stacks of bound American dollars into the dull green duffel bag they brought with them. This wasn't the first stop the truck had made and and it was filled with more money than they could ever carry away.

When the duffel bag was as full as they could pack it, they zipped it shut and jumped down from the truck. It took both of them to heft the bag as they began to awkwardly run as best as they could manage toward the opposite end of the still dark alley.

The second guard regained a measure of consciousness, turned his head to see straight under the enormous armored truck and saw the two figures struggling with the bag between them. Drawing his heavy weapon, he sighted as best he could and managed to get a shot off before the severity of his injury returned him to the nothingness of unconsciousness. He didn't see Jamil stagger, then slowly collapse.

Sameer's eyes widened with horror when he saw his older brother lying on his stomach, one elbow bent at an impossibly weird angle, his sightless eyes staring into eternity. He was torn between having to leave the brother who had raised him or giving up the dream Jamil had instilled in him so long ago.

His older brother had told him repeatedly that he had but one responsibility if he himself died and that was to carry out their mission. The blood of their parents and sisters demanded it.

Unable to lift the bag alone, Sameer unzipped the bag and fiercely, frantically scooped out stacks and stacks of dollars until the bag was light enough that he could carry it alone.

With a last tearful, sorrowful look at his beloved brother, he hurried down the alley to the car they had parked there earlier. Hoisting the heavy bag into the car, he slammed the door, started the engine and hurriedly left.

For a moment, he couldn't get his mind to function; in his shock he was simply intent on escaping. Slowly his thought processes began to kick in and fragments of Jamil's carefully laid plans began to come to the fore.

First he found the covered, protected spot beside a dilapidated, abandoned business where he was to hide out until enough hours passed that some of the swarms of police eased off before he made his way to the airport, that part where the fancy private jets were. That's where they planned to get control of one to take them home.

Sameer shook for hours as he sat in the old car, shedding tears for the last living member of his family of seven. For so many years, Jamil had been both his mother and father, his provider, his teacher, his role model, his beloved older brother.

Now Sameer was completely alone for the first time in his life and very afraid. He had to do this. He had no choice. Jamil had told him over and over during all the years since his childhood that this was the mission given to them by Allah himself and there could be no room for failure.

He eyed the ugly green duffel, despising the money in it. Money. It was always money. Jamil had worked for long hot hours as a one of many gardeners who kept the grounds of the fancy casinos in a state of perfection. He could barely earn enough money to feed his little brother and himself. Even the hot, cramped so-called 'apartment' where they lived required money. Everybody had to have money. Young Sameer often thought that the world would be better off without it, then there would be no greed, no power backed by nothing but stacks of money.

Sameer was fairly sure that no one had noticed the car in which he'd made his escape. It was an old car with badly faded once-red paint that was now a dull rusty color that would never catch an eye or attract attention to itself which is why Jamil had picked this spot to pass time. It would fit right in with the surroundings. Later, he would ease away from this place and follow the instructions written on the map. Jamil had taken no chances that his younger brother couldn't complete the mission if he wasn't there.

Slowing the car to an idle near the place where he was to take a jet, Sameer could hardly believe his eyes as one of those beautiful machines pulled up near an office building and shut down its screaming engines. A man carrying a clipboard stood waiting for the stairs to fully open.

The jet was almost overwhelming to Sameer. Its glistening white was like the sun at midday. There were several lines of a beautiful blue, as blue as the waters of his home, that extended from the pointed nose, down its sides and swept up the back edges of the dramatic tall tail.

He took a deep breath and closed his eyes for a brief moment, knowing that these could be the last moments of his life. Shaking off that thought, Sameer drove the old car right up to the security gate. An old man in a guard's uniform waved him away. "You can't park there!" he had yelled.

Sameer saw the mechanism that would open the gate. He got out of the car, dragging the duffel bag with him and grabbed the gun that he had wedged under his belt and rushed toward the gate. The guard saw the gun and drew his own but Sameer shot the old man who simply dropped like a ragdoll to the hot pavement as he sprinted toward the gate and through it. He could not fail his brother! He would not!

Now running towards the jet, he saw the man with the clipboard come back down the stairs, looking around. Sameer shot him, his eyes wide at seeing the red that rapidly spread on the front of the man's white shirt. The path to the jet was clear and he rushed up the stairs into the cabin, barely able to breathe from his fright.

At first he saw only one man standing before him, someone wearing stripes on his shoulders that identified him as a pilot. Then he saw a small woman who had been gathering her baggage, it appeared. He pointed his gun at the pale-faced man but the woman eased between them.

* * *

Seeing the man's weapon pointed at Tim, Molly had hurriedly dropped her weapon back in her flight bag and shoved it back under a seat.

The agents in the cabin stood in surprise but Molly raised her hand in their direction. "No. Sit down. Wait."

The man's eyes were wild as they darted everywhere but took in little. Molly eased her way in front of Tim and spoke to the man, "Don't shoot. No one here will harm you. What do you want of us?"

"You take me to my brothers! I join them in their fight!"

The woman answered, "Okay. Where are they?"

"My homeland. Yemen. I have much money to help them."

Molly was shocked. _Yemen?_

When she didn't immediately respond, the man roughly shoved the weapon he held against the side of her head. "Go now! No waiting!"

Taken by her amazingly calm demeanor, Sameer was enormously relieved by her response. "Okay. You want to go to Yemen, I'll take you there, but there are things that must be done first. Without fuel, the aircraft cannot fly. Without being checked and oil added, the engines cannot run. Without the proper international maps, I won't know the way to fly there. Let these things be done and I'll take you to Yemen."

Her gaze never left the gunman's face. His stared at her, his mouth working but saying nothing. Her words made sense to him though he knew little of these aircraft. Fuel. Oil. Maps. Yes, these things made sense - like a car.

"You do now. But no trick or I shoot!" Sameer was so scared and unsure of himself. Why couldn't his stronger older brother be here to lead the way?

Molly half-snorted, muttering as she pointed to the four stripes on her shoulders, "Shoot me and we don't fly. Got it?"

Looking at the shoulder boards she pointed to, Sameer nodded his understanding. His face was shiny with sweat, his breathing was rapid and his eyes could settle on nothing, darting everywhere. He was terrified and terrified people were unstable. They needed to calm him.

"Jethro, will you bring me a glass of cold water, please?" She spoke though her eyes never left those of the frightened gunman.

"I'm Molly. Tim is the First Officer. We fly the jet."

Unsure, hesitating, the gunman finally responded a little quieter, "Sameer. I am Sameer Abadi."

Taking the glass from a tall man with silvery hair, she quickly tipped her head slightly toward the rear of the cabin, indicating that the man should return to his place, though his expression clearly expressed his objection.

As the small woman held the glass out to him, Sameer looked at it, then at the bag he held in one hand and the weapon in the other.

"I can put your bag over here for you," she offered calmly.

Seeing where she was pointing, Sameer hesitated a moment, then, seeing no guile in her eyes, he slowly handed the heavy bag to her. She nearly dropped it, but managed to hold it long enough to put it in front of one of the seats. Sameer took a deep breath, then raised the glass to his lips and drained it dry.

"More?"

He nodded and she gestured for the same man to come get the glass. When he returned with more water, she said, "Sameer, this is Jethro."

The Yemeni dipped his head once in the custom of his people and responded softly, "Sameer," as he accepted the cold glass from his hand.

Gibbs' eyes flicked to his wife's calm face as he murmured, "Doin' good, Molly." Then he returned to his seat.

Sameer looked at Molly and a tentative smile eased across his face as he spoke softly, "You take Sameer to Yemen, yes?"

"Yes, Sameer. As soon as we get the things we need, we will leave. Yemen is too far away to make it all the way without a fuel stop, but I will work that out once we are airborne, okay? You understand?"

"Yes. One stop for fuel, then Yemen."

She nodded. "Yes. Now, I must return to the cockpit with the First Officer to begin preparations for the flight. You can be seated and relax. After the fuel has been delivered and the engines serviced, I'll need to meet the mechanic on the steps to receive some papers, then we leave."

Sameer nodded and edged toward one of the beautiful soft leather seats in the front of the cabin. "I sit here."

"That's fine. There's a bathroom in the back." He nodded and sagged into the seat.

* * *

In the cockpit, Molly's hands showed only the smallest tremor as she started the Auxiliary Power Unit, a small unit that was built into the jet's tail. The APU would provide ground power for everything on the aircraft, including air conditioning, lights, and communications.

She knew she was about to set a massive national alert into motion but it was necessary. Keying her mike, she swallowed and said very calmly, "McCarren tower, Gulfstream - seventy-seven hundred - on the company ramp."

The tower responded instantly. "Gulfstream 7700, message received. What do you require?"

The very second she spoke the words, the alarm was instantly sent to the FAA, the FBI, Homeland Security, the Department of Defense, the Department of State and other government agencies and every word was and would be recorded.

7700 was the code for 'hijacking in progress, do not approach'.

"McCarren, we need a full load of fuel, engine service, and international charts."

"Roger, Gulfstream. Understood. International charts for any particular destination?"

Molly took a deep breath. "Yemen."

She and Tim exchanged a sober glance. How were they to get out of this? They could only play it by ear as events unfolded.

All those now listening to the transmission were suddenly covered with icy chill bumps. Yemen was a nation governed by whoever had won the last big fight. It was governed only by the lawlessness of total anarchy. American people and an American jet would not be welcome and neither had a guaranteed chance of returning in one piece.

As the big fuel truck trundled into position to fill the tanks to maximum, Molly left Tim in the cockpit and sat on the edge of a seat near Sameer. "Sameer, we are receiving fuel. My one last condition for flying you to Yemen is that you release these three men. They have nothing to do with the flight and their absence will be one less distraction for you and we can carry that much more fuel. Do you agree?"

Sameer's eyes took in the faces of the three Americans in the cabin. They watched him intently but he could read nothing of their expressions. This woman had kept her word so far - but - he didn't know what to do. Jamil would know but he had never said anything about this. But the woman Molly was right. He didn't need to have to keep them under constant watch.

They were very big men, built very strong. Like most of his people, he was thin and wiry and not nearly as tall as these big Americans.

"Yes. They will stay here."

"Thank you, Sameer."

She stood and approached the three agents. "All three of you are being released. Deplane and take your bags with you. Tim and I - will be back as soon as we can." She looked at Jethro and breathed softly, "I love you."

The men started to argue with her but she sharply cut them off. "No! Just go! You can't do anything on board. I need you working on the ground! You _must_ do this for Tim and me. We _need_ you to do this!"

The faces of the three agents were furious that they felt so helpless to stop this, but with the big fuel truck pumping additional hundreds of gallons of very high-octane fuel into the jet's tanks, this certainly was not the place to start a gunfight. It was simply becoming a bigger potential bomb with every passing moment.

The only good news was that there was no sign of Rob Johnson lying on the hardstand. Hopefully, he was on the way to a hospital.

Grimly, all three collected their small carry-on bags, retrieved other baggage from the compartment beneath the jet, and slowly walked toward the office door, their eyes never leaving the plane.

Jethro stepped off the stairs and turned around to look at her, their eyes locked on each other for a very long moment.

Just inside the Gulfstream office door, a harried-looking man grabbed Gibbs. "What's going on out there? Where's the hijacker? Anyone on board hurt?"

Three sets of eyes just gave him hard-eyed glares. Gibbs growled in his quiet, dangerous way, "Hands off me. Got nothin' to say to ya."

"Look here. I'm FBI Senior Special Agent James Jones. I've gotta stop this hijacking before the plane gets off the ground!"

Gibbs spun around and grabbed the man by a combination fistful of shirtfront and tie, his quiet voice colder than arctic ice and twice as chilling. "I don't care who you are, dumbass. You try to stop that jet from leavin' and you'll kill the people flyin' it - and that's the _last_ thing that ever better happen, ya understand me? You and anybody you got around are to stand down! _Immediately!_ Got it? If I hear even one shot bein' fired toward that jet, you're gettin' one right between the eyes!"

"You - you're threatening me?" Jones screeched, his eyes wide.

Gibbs turned back, blazing eyes spitting ice-blue flames, one index finger standing stiffly at attention right in front of the man's sweating face, "No. _That_ is a promise!"

The three walked over to the Gulfstream counter. Gibbs said, "Need to see whoever is in charge."

The blond-haired man already there responded quietly, "That's me. Allen Costner. What's happening out there?"

"Need to talk."

Costner nodded, "This way."

Gibbs turned back to another somewhat younger man behind the counter, slid his backup weapon across the counter to him, then pointed to the FBI agent. "If he moves, shoot him!"

The rep who took the gun, blinked and his eyes flicked toward the FBI agent before he nodded to this silver-haired man. There was no way in hell he'd ever say 'no' to this man!

In Costner's office, Gibbs quickly told him who they were and what had brought them to this point. "That's my wife flyin' that thing and I'm gonna see to it that she, my agent and your airplane get back in one piece. Need to make some calls."

Costner pushed his desk chair to the NCIS agent and pointed to his phone saying, "We called 911, and we got Rob into an ambulance. Cops should be here by now."

As Gibbs began dialing, Costner momentarily left the office, telling a secretary to bring coffee and sandwiches to his office, then checked on his petrified rep who was still gingerly holding the gun. One glance at the FBI man and he could barely hide a smirk as the man seemed afraid to move a hair and appeared dangerously close to having a major accident in his pants, if he hadn't already. It would serve him right. He obviously hadn't a clue of what was supposed to be done in these dangerous, volatile situations. Rushing in with guns blazing was not the way to do it.

He opened his cellphone and called the employee who had accompanied Rob to the hospital, but there was no news yet. He was on the way to surgery.

Costner issued orders for trays of food to be boarded when the captain received the fuel slip and the mechanic's report. No telling where or when the jet would land next or when food would be available again. The cockpit crew had a long, grueling flight ahead of them. This was the least he could do.

Then, much to his disgust, a local TV news truck skidded to a stop just outside their twelve-foot high security fence, setting up close to the closed gate, preparing to broadcast who knew what. He left the office and strode to the gate, beckoning the "on air" reporter, as they called themselves, over to him.

He heard her speaking breathlessly into her mike, "Hold on a minute, Jennifer and Don! Someone is coming this way! Sir? Sir?" she called. "Cassie Bennett, KTTJ. Can you tell us what is happening? There have been reports of gunfire at this location. Have people been killed?"

Filled with anger and disgust, he waited until the mike was close, then reached through the mesh of the fence and grabbed it. Speaking into it with a deadly calm, don't-mess-with-me voice he growled into the live mike, "I can tell you that you _will_ move that damned truck from private property immediately. I can tell you that anything that transpires here is _none_ of your damned business! I can tell you that if I see you back here, _your ass is grass_ and you'll have a long time in which to regret it!"

With that, he threw the very expensive mike over the top of the surrounding high fence toward the remote broadcast truck, turned on his heel without looking to see where it landed and returned to the office. "Mathers! Call the cops again and tell 'em to keep these TV morons off the property. If they don't get on it now, it'll be a circus out there when the word spreads."

"Yes, sir!"

Costner entered his office in time to hear this Gibbs say, "Thank you, Mr. Secretary. I appreciate it. We'll need all the help we can get. Yes, sir."

 _'Mr. Secretary? Who the hell are these guys, anyway? Maybe I don't really want to know.'_

Gibbs looked up as he ended the call. "What's happenin' out there?"

"Chased some TV reporter off. Jet is about fueled. A mechanic is checking the second engine now." His voice dropped low and quiet, "They're about ready to go."

Gibbs' mouth tightened as he nodded with his eyes studying the top of the big desk, lips a thin white line.

Several moments later, Costner returned and told him quietly, "They're ready, Agent Gibbs."

He opened the door of the office building and stood just outside, joined by DiNozzo and Cartwright, watching as the stairs of the jet folded up and stowed themselves against the inner face of the door which then sealed itself flush with the outside of the plane, locked and secured by a slightly shaking Tim McGee.

Taking his place in the right seat, he began the Before Start checklist ritual almost automatically. Somehow this just couldn't be happening to them! They were doing someone a favor and were all set to have a fabulous week in Las Vegas. It couldn't be real.

As they continued the litany of checklists, Molly's hands danced over the various panels, switches and buttons, then the unmistakable whine of a jet engine coming to life was audible. In another few moments, Engine #1 followed suit.

Tim was jotting down instructions being given by McCarren Ground Control, then posted the slip on the center console where Molly could refer it. She sent the proper hand signals to the plane marshall who would direct her back out toward the taxiways.

Adding a touch of power, the jet began to slowly move. As it turned, she saw three people who were close to her heart standing stone-faced outside the Gulfstream office. She slightly lifted one hand as a small goodbye gesture, then returned her attention to controlling the jet and following Ground Control's instructions. The operation of the jet demanded her full attention regardless of how many tears wanted to flow. For now, they'd have to content themselves with staying put until some later date.

Traffic was being held for them so they were handed over to the field Control Tower who directed them straight to the proper runway.

As they slowly taxied, Tim received instructions for their departure, then he heard, "Gulfstream, you are cleared onto the active runway and cleared for immediate departure. Godspeed, 7700."

::

to be continued

::


	3. Chapter 3

.

NCIS

The Carolina Connection Series

Book 2 Part 3

LIFE: VACATION

Chapter 3

As they turned onto the active runway, Molly picked up the PA. "Sameer, we're taking off. Fasten your seatbelt."

She added power, and the jet began its rapid race down the runway until Tim gave Molly the V-1 and V-2 calls, then she pulled back on the yoke and established a proper rate of climb. They climbed to their assigned heading and altitude. All traffic was being diverted from the jet's intended cruise altitude and heading. The diversions would make it possible for the flight to be as direct as possible to wherever its refueling point would be. Every ounce of fuel could be significant to them.

Gibbs, DiNozzo and Cartwright watched in silence as the beautiful jet they had so enjoyed just a short time ago now taxied away. It quickly gathered speed on the runway then rose into the sky. They stood watching the jet's winking nav lights until they were no long visible, lost in the gathering evening twilight.

Costner stood beside them in their silent vigil, understanding their feelings, wishing there was something more he could have done for the two now flying alone to an unknown, very uncertain future. At least, he knew they had the best airplane in the world, and they seemed to know how to handle it, squeezing the best from it that it had to give.

Aircraft could be replaced, but the crew could not. The small woman in the left seat appeared to be so young. He had glanced at the names on the manifest: Captain Molly MacKenzie, First Officer Timothy McGee. Those two were going to be in his prayers constantly.

Gibbs remained standing in place until the taller of the two younger men, gave a gentle tug on his elbow. The older man took a deep breath, then returned to Costner's office and picked up the phone, punching in a number.

"Fornell, gotta have some help - - - Yeah, that's us - - -Molly and Tim. I'll fill you in on the rest of it later. What's in the works so far, ya know? - - - Okay. Lemme know."

He punched another number. "Tom? We got a problem - - - Yeah - - - - Yeah. They just took off - - - -Got Fornell working on it, too - - - -Dunno. Guess we'll find out later - - - - - As far as I know, she can't determine that until other maps are boarded."

Gibbs continued. "Skinny black kid. Yemeni. Looked scared to death like he'd shoot the first thing that moved. Molly somehow gained his confidence and calmed him down. I think things will stay pretty much under control - until they reach Yemen - then it's anybody's guess. We got any assets there? - - - Find out. If we do, we're gonna need 'em. Who's in charge over there this week? - - - Me, neither. Okay, Tom. Keep me in the loop."

Gibbs stood and went to the lobby area and retrieved his backup weapon from the nervous rep. The fibbie had disappeared, hopefully taking all his brethren with him. He needed to remember to tell Fornell about runnin' him off. Idiot!

"Oh, crap."

Gibbs turned to see who had spoken the quiet oath. Costner walked outside the office door again and stood with aggravated hands on his hips. There was an array of satellite dishes and remote broadcast trucks across the street from the Gulfstream property, including one from CNN.

He glanced at the tall, silver-haired man who had come to stand beside him. "Guess the cat's out of the bag now. And there'll be no peace for anybody."

Gibbs merely nodded as he quietly wondered what a few rounds from a Sig Sauer sent in that direction would do. He had nothing against reporters except when they interfered with a case he was working on or in which he had a personal interest. In this case, they already had two strikes against them.

Too many that he'd had experience with were interested only in promoting themselves and using everything possible to do that. The actual 'news' meant nothing. His gut was churning harder than a Mississippi paddle-wheeler.

' _Molly-girl, be careful. You and Tim gotta get back here in one piece. Don't care about the damn jet. They can build another one.'_

That evening every TV in America and many around the world were learning the story of Molly MacKenzie and Timothy McGee. Some stations were even tracking the flight through Flight-Tracker apps. The small blinking jet symbol steadily crept across the Pacific Ocean.

Mike, the FBO guy who looked after Charlie, and Sylvia from the restaurant in Wilmington, a bunch of federal agents everywhere, a retired marine in DC, and countless others around the world watched as the gripping story unfolded in front of them. One of the photographers in Vegas had shot clear, steady video of everything from the moment the engines started until it flew out of sight.

Tony and Jonathan felt useless. Not one blamed thing they could do. Yet. Doubtless as soon as the Boss got some more intel, they'd be moving. Big time. And it wouldn't be a minute too soon for any of them.

* * *

With the jet on AutoPilot, Molly retreated to the cabin with the maps to figure out where they might be able to refuel. She started the coffee brewing and pulled a big tray food out of the chiller, telling Sameer to come eat. His eyes lit up at the fruit and accepted a glass of juice.

He watched with interest as she spread the maps out on the larger of the two tables and began working. Vegas to Sana'a, Yemen was well over 8,000 miles, beyond the range of the jet.

It looked like Tokyo might work for a refueling point. Roughly 5,600 miles was easily doable. Vegas to Tokyo would take about ten hours.

Tokyo to Sana'a, Yemen was further. A good eleven hours.

They weren't going to make it without a stop for sleep. They had already put in a long day with another ten hours to go before Tokyo.

"Sameer, come look at this."

When he joined her, she showed him the distances and times. "We are going to have to have some time to sleep when we get to Tokyo."

Sameer started shaking his head. "No! Not leave jet. Me, you, Tim, we stay on jet."

"Okay, we'll close the door and sleep here in the cabin. The seats are comfortable. But you surely see that it is not safe to try to keep flying after so long without sleep. You agree that Tim and I can sleep on the plane in Japan?"

Sameer missed his brother badly. Jamil always knew what to do. As he reviewed what the woman had said, he realized she was right. He had looked through the open cockpit door as the two pilots had flown, and it looked very, very complicated, far beyond what such a simple man as himself could comprehend.

"Yes. You, Tim sleep here. Door closed."

Molly nodded, accepting the arrangement, then began figuring headings before she returned to the cockpit, telling Tim of the deal she'd made with the Yemeni.

She folded the aerial charts as they would be needed and handed them to Tim. "I think these are the headings we'll use, but we may have to alter them a little as time passes." She was thankful to have a dedicated channel. Only certain entities could communicate with the jet, which made things a lot simpler. The FAA staff handling this flight were thoroughly professional and knew what they were doing. They were making this as easy as possible on Tim and herself.

Then the radio interrupted them, "Gulfstream 7700, this is FBI negotiator Jim Taylor. I'll be in command of your flight from now on and, I'll need to speak with the hijacker later. Change frequency to 192.60 now."

An angry Molly picked up her mike. "FBI, you say - and _YOU_ think _you're_ gonna take command of this aircraft? Noooo, I don't think so, Mr. FBI Noodles-for-brains! Not you or anybody else! Already been hijacked once and it isn't happenin' again!"

"I've flown this aircraft every step of the way _AND,_ you obviously don't know that I have LEGAL command and control over this aircraft. That includes everything and everybody in it, according to all laws and agreements both domestic and foreign. Have a nice life, Mr. FBI Man! Changing frequencies _now_ to _anything_ the FAA has out here. Gulfstream 7700 out!"

" _Wait!_ _Gulfstream, wait!_ Didn't mean to upset you, ma'am. O - okay, it's your airplane. May I speak to the hijacker?"

" _You may not!_ He's calm and quiet, and I want him to stay that way! Nobody is gonna bully their way in and screw everything up! You don't know diddly-squat and your boss isn't gonna be real happy when I make a personal complaint to him."

"Um...Okay, ma'am. We're - uh - turning the frequency back over to the FAA. Good luck, Captain."

Molly was enraged! _'Who does that jerk think he is and how did he think he could 'take command' when he doesn't even know how to fly it or anything about the airplane itself. Doofus! What on earth does he think he can do with Sameer now that we're out over the Pacific Ocean? Ignoramus! Wait'll I see Fornell again!'_

Copies of this segment were sent to federal offices all over the world and to many private individuals, as well. Fornell nearly had a coronary when he heard it.

She glanced at Tim whose green eyes were sparkling.

"Well done, ma'am!" he said with a smirky smile, ducking the hand that aimed for his head. It's interesting how sparkles in green eyes can put out the hot fires flaming in brown eyes.

"Don't call me ma'am!"

"Yes, ma'am!"

"Smart ass," she muttered with a grin.

The radio came to life again, "Gulfstream 7700, is Captain MacKenzie available?"

"This is MacKenzie.

"Captain, stand by for communication from Gulfstream DC."

After a moment, a welcome voice was heard in their headsets. "Mac? You okay, girl? This is Ken."

Molly swallowed the lump that suddenly appeared in her throat. "Ken! It is _so_ good to hear your voice. Yeah, we're okay. Keepin' everything together. Sure wish you were here!"

"You hang in there, Mac. You're doin' a _fantastic_ job, and everybody is real proud of ya! We've tapped into your data flow by satellite, and all your onboard systems look real good. Have you decided on a refueling point?"

"The plane is perfect, Ken. No problem whatsoever. Fuel. Looks to me like Tokyo is our best bet. It is just about the midway point to Sana'a."

"I agree, Mac. We've been runnin' numbers here based on what we see performance-wise and winds aloft and you've definitely made the best choice. We have a facility there, so we'll be handlin' the servicin' and anything else ya might need."

"That's a relief, Ken. _Thank you!_ I'm _really_ relieved to know that. I didn't know what we'd be facin' when we got there. We're not gonna to be able to do this without some sleep. I've worked out an agreement with the hijacker that Tim and I will sleep on the plane, door closed and locked while we're there. _Please, please_ see that nobody tries anything stupid like tryin' to approach the plane! _Everything's under control_ , and I want it to stay that way! Hopefully, we can slip in, do what we need to do and get out before anybody knows we're there. Doubt anybody will pay us any mind anyway; that would be better yet."

"We'll give ya a secure place, Mac. Don't worry about that part. Ahhh...I know you haven't seen TV but - you're all over it. Number one story around the world from what I understand. Beautiful take-off ya made in Vegas, by the way. Text-book perfect! Saw the one out of DC myself. _Spectacular_ , girl! Got some snaps of it I'll share with ya. The sun was in a perfect position for it."

"Oh, lord. Didn't know the news had leaked out." After a deep sigh, she continued, "Okay. We'll deal with it as it comes, I guess. I'll be glad to get to Tokyo, I tell ya that! ...Uh, Ken, you have any word on Rob Johnson?"

"Yeah. Rob got through surgery, and the docs seem optimistic, so I'll take that as good news. When he starts bitchin' about the food, I'll know he's about ready to come back to work."

"I'm so very sorry that happened to him. Seems to be a terrific person."

"The best. Okay, Mac. We'll monitor the data flow all the way in so we're with ya, hon...Um - where's Jethro?"

There was a brief pause of silence before she responded. "I don't know. Last I saw him was when we left Vegas."

"Don't worry, Mac. We'll take care of him while he's there. That's a promise; I give ya my word."

"Bless you, Ken. You're a good friend. Thank you."

"Naw, ya give me too much credit. Tell ATC to contact me if you need anythin', okay? Love ya, girl! Talk to ya later."

"Love you, too, Ken...Gulfstream...7700 out."

Molly sighed. "Good people, isn't he?"

"Sure is. I learned a ton from him on just that one short flight the other day. Seems like a lifetime ago."

"I know. What a vacation! Why don't you go back and take a break, Tim? I'm gonna put it on AutoPilot for a while. We're just boring a hole in the sky, now. The FAA guys will keep us on track. They know what they're doin'. I've never had a dedicated FAA crew watchin' after me before. It's kinda special."

"Yeah, it is. I guess under the circumstances, they don't want to lose contact with us. Reassuring! Okay, I'll go back for a while. Want me to bring you anything?"

"No, I'll go back later. Catch a nap, if you want."

"That's tempting but if you don't sleep, I don't sleep."

Molly gave his shoulder a squeeze.

As he was leaving, Tim said, "I think I'll make some of the Boss' coffee. That'll keep us awake!"

"All the way to Yemen - and back!"

It felt good to share a chuckle, even if it was a small one. The continual stress was taking a toll on both of them.

* * *

Long hours passed as the sleek jet streaked steadily across the sky high above the earth. To Tim and Molly, it felt as if they were in their own space capsule, endlessly circling the earth.

Their minds were nearly in a sleepless stupor when the FAA controllers handling their flight started their instructions for descent. Having something meaningful to do refreshed them enough that instructions were followed to the letter and the faithful jet began its return to Planet Earth again.

It was raining hard in Tokyo and dark, 0014 local time, just after midnight. Molly was thinking that at least the hour would have most people in their homes asleep. However, on the ground, Japanese policemen had their hands full in controlling the massive crowd that wanted a glimpse of the famous jet making its dangerous flight to a land known for its lawlessness.

Expensive long-range cameras recorded the jet's approach from the moment its winking nav lights appeared from beneath the heavy black overcast. Those close to the event who were glued to their TVs relaxed a bit, knowing that the exhausted crew had had to make a difficult and demanding instrument approach into a strange airport, exhaling only after the jet made a beautiful, soft landing. Water picked up by the tires as it taxied sprayed up and away like feathery white wings as if Angels were escorting the jet to a resting place.

The English-speaking Ground Controller guided the plane to the Gulfstream complex at one end of the huge international airport. Both Tim and Molly were so thankful to be finally on the ground, knowing that they'd soon be able to get desperately-needed sleep.

News crews from all over the world recorded every second of their arrival and live cameras followed every movement. Experts, both real and self-proclaimed, joined news hosts on-air giving their opinions on 'what might be going on in the aircraft,' 'will authorities storm the aircraft?' dredging up every element of drama that could possibly be imagined.

The consensus of that crowd was that the armed and dangerous hijacker was sitting in the cockpit, holding a gun or guns to the heads of the gallant and brave pilots. Much to-do was made of the fact that the captain of the flight was a woman, and, in fact, a US Federal Agent, as was the first officer.

Their last names were rarely used on-air anymore. Everybody knew who was being referred to when either "Molly" or "Tim" were mentioned.

Tom Morrow, who had slept about as much as his two agents in the last thirty or so hours, watched on the big plasma screen in the squad room with as many agents and staff who could squeeze in.

His last contact with Gibbs was hours ago when his Special Assistant called and said succinctly, "Goin' to Japan, Tom. Talk to ya later," and the connection was broken. ' _Guess I should be glad he called at all,'_ he told himself ruefully. A tiger wasn't going to change its stripes, and Gibbs wasn't going to stop being Gibbs. That's another reason he genuinely liked the man.

Taxiing as directed, Molly could have cried when she saw the stylish Gulfstream logo on the side of a large hangar ahead. A plane marshall waiting in the rain with his lighted wands was visible under powerful area lights illuminating the entire Gulfstream hardstand like blazing suns. Following the marshall's directions, she brought the jet to a halt in the designated place, set the parking brakes and the began the After Shutdown checklist. Then sitting for a moment in the silence, Tim and Molly gave each other a long look as their hands met over the center console and gripped each other tightly. They had made it.

In the cabin, Sameer was standing in the aisle, gun in his hand, looking nervous.

"It's okay, Sameer. No one will approach except the technicians who will check and service the plane. I'm gonna open the door for a moment and will step off the aircraft briefly, but I give you my word I will not leave and will come right back aboard. You know you can trust me."

Sameer didn't like the idea of the door being opened, but he knew that in all this time, this woman Molly had never lied to him. After many moments, he hesitantly nodded his head.

"You come back in jet."

"Yes. Tim will be with you."

Sameer took several steps deeper into the cabin so he wouldn't be seen, gesturing to Tim to come also.

Molly moved the controls that opened the door and unfolded the steps. She looked out into the night though she could see nothing beyond the bright lights surrounding them, but there was a lot of noise, a roar.

At first she couldn't identify it, and then realized it was the sound of thousands of voices - calling, yelling or cheering - she couldn't tell which - a neverending roar. It was unnerving to realize there were really that many people were standing in the chilly rain to see them, but you couldn't see them in the dark rain behind the glaring lights.

Standing at the top of the stairs, she saw a man wearing Gulfstream rain gear run toward her with an umbrella already open to thrust into her hands as soon as she began to descend to the pavement.

"Captain MacKenzie? Jack Michaels, Gulfstream. _Really_ glad to see you, ma'am! Ken Murchison sent the data flow info, and you're looking real good mechanically and technically. What do you want to be done?"

"Hi, Jack." Then she stopped a moment and grinned. "You really should have picked a different name, you know?"

Realizing how her greeting sounded, he returned her grin. "Sorry about that." That she had the wits to appreciate an unintended joke after all she had gone through raised his level of respect for her even higher than it had been.

"Full service if you don't mind, Jack. Who knows what we'll face in Yemen and I doubt there will be service of any kind. I'm just hopin' we'll have enough fuel left to be able to get out of there and to somewhere else. You know what's nearby?"

"We're working on that right now and will contact you when you're back on the radio again, or maybe before you leave. You're going to sleep now, is that right?"

"You better believe it! After fifteen hours in the air, we were beginnin' to think we couldn't even make it here. But since I've never seen any ocean-float test results for this thing we decided we'd better keep it in the air. And that approach..." she just shook her head..."God was with us."

"Damn good job, Captain, I tell you that! All right. Anything else I can do for you now?"

"Don't think so, Jack, but thanks, except my name is Molly - or Mac. We're just gonna button up and sleep. Have no idea how long, but we're only halfway there so it may be a while. A short nap isn't gonna to do it."

"Agreed. When the service crew finishes, we're going to tow you into the hangar and close the doors. You'll be secure, and it'll be quiet, that I can guarantee. You just let us know when you're ready to go or if you need anything, okay? How about catering and galley supplies?"

"Uh, I'm not sure what food is left. Sameer has been hittin' the fruit pretty hard. Juice, some fresh trays, maybe, if you don't mind. We could just swap out the old trays for new ones, if that would be doable. Coffee packs for the machine. Don't know what's left. Probably won't get anything more until we get back to civilization again, whenever that might be. Don't like bein' _anywhere_ in the Middle East, to be honest with ya."

"Got it covered. Don't guess he'll let us come in, so we'll hand everything up to you before you leave. I've ordered fresh water for the galley tanks and full lavatory service. That's about all I can do in that regard. Okay, Cap - Mac, go sleep. I'll see you later."

Molly nodded and told him quietly, "Thanks, Jack. It's - it's good to see a friendly face. Gets kinda lonely up there."

He patted the small hand that was on the handrail of the stairs. "Get some sleep. We'll watch out for you."

With one last look into the darkness beyond the brilliant lights, Molly turned and entered the cabin. The door was again closed and locked. The dripping umbrella leaned in a corner. Good thing the jet was going to get a new interior whenever it gets back to Vegas. Molly sighed. That wasn't her concern at the moment.

It was silent in the cabin as she walked back into the cabin, opened a bin then tossed a blanket to Tim, one to Sameer, then got one for herself. She told them what was to take place as far as the aircraft was concerned, then took a seat and reclined it fully, spreading the blanket over herself. "Goin' to sleep. 'Night."

* * *

Abdulaziz Al-Sarafa walked out of the large tent which he occupied when not in the city. He didn't like the big buildings and the city streets always thronged with people and cars, each bleating and screaming to be heard over the other. Always noise!

He looked at the vast sky above, slightly smiling as he gazed at the billions of stars over his head. The sand beneath his sandals still held some of the warmth of the day, though it would quickly dissipate as the night chill arrived.

He loved the desert and hated to leave it. But, to hold onto his position that was so hard-won, he had to be where the political battles were fought, only briefly visiting this place that renewed the life-force within him. He was a son of this land and he now ruled it. Whoever would seek to remove him from his place had better be prepared for a fight like they had never seen before.

His allies were stable for the moment, though they required a close watch be kept on them. A very close watch! Any who spoke against him vanished from their tents or home, never again seen. In time, anonymous dried bones would occasionally be uncovered by desert winds and left where they were found. Such things were no novelty in this harsh land. Ancient Christian writings stated that there was nothing new under the sun - and nowhere was that more true than in Yemen.

An aide approached, but stopped ten feet away, waiting to be noticed and allowed to continue. A slight movement of Al-Sarafa's hand brought the man forward to deliver a message. By means of a flashlight, the leader of the fractured, splintered nation read the latest information about the American jet that was supposed to be on its way to his land.

He smiled as he read and handed the paper back to the aide with a short nod. Again alone, Al-Sarafa's eyes narrowed as he considered options before him.

He sat on the cooling sand as a very light breeze cooled his sweat. Evening was his favorite time of the day. Perfect for thinking and planning. An American jet carrying one Yemeni hijacker and two American pilots. Not just pilots but Federal Agents of the United States government if the news was to be believed. Many opportunities but it had to be handled properly.

Time passed until Al-Sarafa's face was at last satisfied with his thoughts and he rose, giving the brilliant lights in the sky a last look before returning to his tent. Yes. He knew exactly what he was going to do - and he would enjoy it greatly.

::

to be continued

::


	4. Chapter 4

.

NCIS

The Carolina Connection Series

Book 2 Part 3

LIFE: VACATION

Chapter 4

"I don't give a rat's ass what you're plannin'! The three of us are gonna be there! - - - Yeah, we got transport; we'll meet up with ya later."

Closing the cellphone with an impatient snap, Gibbs stared at the white jet which almost seemed to glow in the falling rain, surrounded by the brilliant light of enormous, powerful area lights. Various white-uniformed technicians had swarmed over it for a time while different service trucks moved in to do whatever they did then moved away. Even the cockpit windscreen had been carefully wiped down.

The truck that sat the beside the sleek aircraft the longest was the fuel truck. Apparently they were squeezing every drop possible into the tanks. Molly and Tim were not quite halfway through this nightmare and were facing a very long flight.

He hoped with everything in him that in Yemen they could just drop the hijacker off and get right back out - but he wasn't betting on it. Uneducated, power-mad drug lords and tribal warlords weren't prone to being sensible and doubtless would turn this into as complicated a mess as possible.

Ice settling into his stomach, he also knew that the jet and its crew were likely to be held hostage for ransom which is why he, DiNozzo and Cartwright insisted on being on-scene when they arrived. He'd kill anybody who tried to harm Tim - or his wife. Muscles in the jaws of his face rippled and flexed as he ground his teeth together.

Seeing Molly a few minutes ago at the bottom of the stairs as she spoke with the Gulfstream rep was nearly more than he could take. He could see the fatigue on her beautiful face and his feet itched to run out there, his arms ached to grab her and carry her to safety, to hold her as tightly as he could. Hard-balled fists hung at his sides as he worked to get his breathing under control. He'd have targets in his crosshairs soon enough.

He knew she was right in saying that he'd be more effective on the ground than he would be in the cabin, but deplaning was probably one of the hardest things he'd ever had to do.

Molly seemed to have established a connection with the kid and had gained his trust. He didn't doubt that had averted trouble. However, as with all scared, unstable people, it would take only a slight thing to turn him again into the murderous thief he had been before he gained control of the jet.

The story of the Abadi brothers had been ferreted out by news people, and their reports had been broadcast far and wide as part of the story, repeated endlessly. Twenty-four-hour news stations all over the globe tried to fill time by replaying every second of video over and over and over.

Gibbs knew they were fortunate that the older brother didn't make it to the jet. It was clear that he had the brains of the two brothers, and it was his work and plan that his much younger brother was intent on following. He had no doubt that if the older one were here now the situation would be much more dire.

That Molly and Tim were managing and performing so flawlessly was due to their inner strength as individuals. In combination with their federal training and experience in so many difficult, dangerous situations, as well as their smooth teamwork in cockpits of all the different airplanes they had flown together.

Gibbs' blue eyes drifted to the huge news trucks packed in as tightly as possible behind the police lines. CNN, BBC, Al Jazeera, CBS, Fox, others from the US, plus a bunch of which he'd never heard. From France, Germany, Italy, Sweden, Netherlands, Spain, Japan - name it and they were there.

It galled him to hear Molly and Tim spoken of by talking heads as if they knew them personally, again inserting themselves into the story as much as possible. His lips tightened, and his blue eyes darkened. He wanted nothing more than to smash his fists into their smug, overly-dramatic, fake, wide-eyed faces.

At the touch of a hand on his shoulder, he turned to look into the serious brown eyes of Jonathan Cartwright. "Boss? Gulfstream rep wants to know if you want onto the property? They're gonna tow the jet into a hangar in a minute. We can't approach it, but they wanna know if you want to come."

Gibbs sighed. Yeah, if that's as close as he could get. He nodded and followed Cartwright and DiNozzo past the police line. They stood and watched as a tow bar was connected to the nose gear of the jet, then a tug slowly pulled it into the sanctuary of an immaculate, softly lit hangar. Before the big doors closed, the three agents disappeared inside with the rep.

The only sound inside the big hangar was the muted sound of their footsteps on the smooth white concrete floor as the three slowly walked around the darkened, silent jet. Tony and Jonathan had a hard time coping, knowing that their teammates were so close.

Sure, they could storm the jet but the kid was right there with them, and both would face certain death before anyone could get there. Of the four people the brothers had shot, Jamil had shot only the first one; Sameer had shot three, killing two, each killed by only one squeeze of the trigger. To storm the jet was to kill Tim and Molly. They understood that Molly knew this which why she was so adamant that everyone stay clear. That was the best chance she and Tim had for survival - at least during this part of the ordeal.

This situation would just have to continue to play out. They would be ready when the time was right. However, patience was apparent only on the fixed expression face of the scout sniper with them. He'd had to play long, deadly waiting games before - and he had never lost. With a hint of a smile, Tony remembered him on a rooftop in Colombia.

Hours passed as the three inside the jet slept soundly. Tim and Molly would need every second they could get to meet the still-unknown challenges that awaited them.

* * *

Gibbs, Tony and Jonathan stood off to one side just staring at the jet, thinking of the two people inside who were so important in their lives.

After a time, Gibbs' cell buzzed and he answered in his usual flat tone, "Yeah...Gibbs."

He listened for several long minutes before responding, "Yeah, we're ready. Got all the gear? - - -Okay, we're on our way."

Snapping the phone shut, he gestured with his head to his companions, saying so softly it almost wasn't heard, "Time to go."

After another long moment intently gazing at the jet, Gibbs abruptly turned and strode purposefully toward a regular door to the side of the big hangar doors. Met outside by Jack Michaels, he shook the facility chief's hand. "'Preciate you takin' care of 'em. Gotta go."

"Our pleasure, Gibbs. We'll do everything we can to see that everything continues without a problem. Take care of yourselves."

Nodding the three left, disappearing into the darkness. Time for another lightning-fast jet flight.

Jonathan remained amazed at the experiences he had had since being with this team. He had no idea that some of the stuff he had seen even existed.

He understood something about why Gibbs was so quietly powerful. Besides his own inestimable skills and abilities, he knew people who either respected him, owed him or both. One phone call usually got him whatever he needed. An entire network of brothers-in-arms had been built over a lifetime - and Marines never forget a friend.

* * *

Gibbs settled himself into position quietly, scanning the scene before him, familiarizing himself with every tiny detail. He settled himself further as he almost snuggled the long specialized rifle closer to his body, firmly pressing it into his right shoulder. The scope was set to perfection, and he was ready.

DiNozzo was stretched out beside him to act as his spotter. Cartwright was nearby acting as their cover from any threat that might pop up. Like being spotted, for instance.

The building whose roof served as their perch was an office building of some sort located on the airport itself though just far enough back to give them some measure of protection. However, there were other buildings around that were taller. They hadn't attempted to enter them for security reasons, but Jonathan would serve as their eyes and ears here. Gibbs and Tony could then concentrate on the concrete hardstand where the jet would most likely be parked if they weren't able to make a very quick stop then keep going.

A soft voice, barely audible called out, "Friendly." Cartwright's heavy weapon instantly turned toward the steel ladder built into the side of the building, the only means to the roof. "Enter," he answered just as softly.

A man, probably in his early or mid-thirties, dressed in the same desert camo, stuck his head up to be recognized before scrambling silently onto the rooftop. He paused beside Jonathan only long enough to clap him on the shoulder before crawling to Gibbs' side where he sprawled a moment to catch his breath.

Gibbs' eyes never left their constant, careful scan of the area through his rifle's scope. "What?" he growled quietly.

"They oughta be here soon, probably within an hour. They left Japan a little after eight this morning. Word is that it was quiet and uneventful, in spite of the horde of people at the airport. Airlines gave up trying to operate scheduled flights because passengers couldn't get through the mob."

Reaching in some of his many pockets, Stancil's man muttered, "Broughtcha some more water. 'S pretty hot out here."

Gibbs snorted, "Ya think?"

Tony grinned. "Thanks, Marty. We won't last long up here without it."

"Yer welcome, DiNozzo. 'S only 98; humidity at 80%. You do the math."

"Don't have to. It's hotter than hell any way you figure," Tony groused.

"Dunno. Haven't been there lately."

The former special ops sergeant grinned at the agent, then told Gibbs, "Team is in place. Quiet. Al-Sarafa is still hangin' on to power at the moment. He's been spotted in the Palace, seems to be gettin' ready to go somewhere. Maybe here, who knows. Got ya radios?"

"DiNozzo, where'd you put 'em?"

"Got 'em right here, Boss."

"Okay, put 'em on and make a frequency check. Gimme mine."

The state-of-the-art gear was lightweight and powerful. A small earpiece, a small mike that extended to the side of the mouth would pick up even the sound of a breath and wouldn't interfere with Gibbs' use of the sniper rifle.

The entire private team was equipped with only the best - and no one asked how that came to be. Gibbs only knew that their leader was a man he'd trust in any situation after serving in combat with him for many years and he had only the best people working for him. All it ever took for him to show up was one phone call to a very, very private number known by less than a small handful of people outside of his organization.

"The Cap'n spotted some special forces types mixed with the locals earlier. Dunno what they got goin' on."

Gibbs just grunted. He'd expected they might show up at some point. "Ignore 'em. The government hasn't got the balls to let 'em do anything anyway."

"Well, you're right 'bout that. Gotta get back." He slapped Gibbs on the shoulder. "Take it easy, old man."

"Old man, my ass. I'll throw ya over the side and save ya the climb down."

"Yeah, yeah. Heard it before."

Marty disappeared over the rim of the roof with an insolent, cheeky grin on his face.

The remains of what could have been a grin was still visible on the side of Gibbs' mouth.

 _'Lord, I hope_ _Tony and Marty never wind up in the same room together. The world would not be safe!'_ he thought before humor evaporated from his mind and his full attention returned to the reason he was stretched on a blazing hot rooftop in Sana'a, Yemen.

* * *

Sameer had allowed Molly to go part way down the stairs to receive the fresh galley supplies and the trays of food that would be kept in the chiller. After handing everything up to Tim, she gave Jack Michaels a long hug and a soft "Thank you" before she reboarded and closed the door.

It felt so good to get some sleep and get cleaned up a little. Her hair freshly brushed and pulled up into its normal high ponytail looked very nice. Somehow while they slept, Gulfstream prepared new aircrew shirts for them just like the ones they'd gotten way back in DC.

A bit of a wash, clean clothes, hot coffee, fresh danish, feather-light croissants, chilled fruit, and trays of other good food would take them a long way. Tim had even gotten a shave in the ship's lavatory and the dark circles under his eyes were only very faintly visible now.

Both - and even Sameer - were very grateful for all the company's people had done for them.

When they were ready, the big hangar doors opened to the bright morning sunshine, and the tug pushed the shining jet out onto the hardstand.

Tim picked up the Before Start Checklist and again went through all that had to be done before the engines could be started. Then Molly clicked switches and things that brought Engine #2 online and it began to spool up rapidly, taking on the unmistakable whine of a powerful jet engine. In moments, #1 joined its counterpart and Tim called out the various readings on the engine instruments on the cockpit panel that told them that all was well. The engines were ready to blast them into the sky.

Tim contacted Tokyo Ground Control, "Tokyo, Gulfstream 7700 on the company ramp, ready to taxi."

A voice instantly responded and gave Tim information he jotted down for his captain and stuck it on the center console. He smoothly repeated it back to the controller, who responded, "Roger, Gulfstream. Good wishes for your safe return."

Tim keyed his mike once in answer, the universal signal of acknowledgment. They taxied onto the active runway and pulled into position. With Tim's hand right behind hers, Molly pushed the silver throttles forward as soon as permission to takeoff was received.

The force from the jet's engines sent it racing down the long runway past V1 and V2, and again the nose pointed upward, climbing effortlessly into the clear blue skies.

Once they reached a certain altitude, the FAA crew again took over. "Good morning, 7700. Hope you got some rest. Climb to 42,000, please, and maintain a heading of 190. We'll be vectoring you around sovereign territories for most of this leg."

Tim answered, "Good to hear you, FAA. Appreciate you being there. Climbing to 42,000, initial heading of 190, will await further instructions. Understand vectoring. 7700."

Tim recognized the voice as that of the same man who had been with them since they were put on the dedicated frequency and smiled. It was almost as if he was a partner in this with them - which was part of the FAA's purpose in doing it.

Once the jet was at altitude and on course, Molly engaged the AutoPilot. They had a long way to go so they might as well do it the easy way.

They sat quietly in the cockpit watching the gauges and instruments; everything was well within their green zones and running smoothly.

They'd be arriving in Yemen probably around three or four in the afternoon, Yemen time. Their course was far from the primarily direct route they had flown previously and that would add time to this last leg to Sana'a. They were looking at something like maybe a twelve-hour flight unless they could find some favorable winds somewhere.

They had fuel to reach it, but Molly was concerned about how far they'd be able to fly after leaving Sana'a. The paper Michaels had given her before departure listed which governments had announced guaranteed safe haven for this flight.

Saudi Arabia was listed, but Molly wasn't in a hurry to make a return visit if she could avoid it. Her last time there hadn't been that pleasant! And, again, it had taken Jethro and her teammates to come rescue her.

Dubai. The US had military there, she thought. Pretty sure there was. Keep it in mind.

Kuwait. There was a definite US military presence there. That might be the best choice - but it would be determined by how much fuel they'd have. She didn't have much hope of them being able to make it that far.

They'd certainly not be able to make it to either Tel Aviv or Amman. Just too far and not enough fuel.

Michaels' crew had squeezed in every ounce of fuel possible into the jet's tanks. Now it was up to Tim and her to make best possible use of it. They didn't even know exactly how much fuel they had because it exceeded what the gauges could measure. The tanks simply showed Full plus. Well, she'd better see if Ken or somebody from Gulfstream was available.

When they got their next course correction, Molly asked, "Is there anyone from Gulfstream available, please? I need a word."

The familiar voice popped right back, "7700, stand by."

Only a few moments later, he said, "7700, Gulfstream DC is on. Go ahead."

"Thanks, FAA. May I ask - what's your name?"

"Austin Williams, Captain."

"Austin, I'm Molly - or Mac. Tim is the first officer. Thanks for stayin' with us."

"That's what we're here for, Capta - Mac. Here's your contact."

"Mac? How ya doin', girl?"

"Ken! Man, I don't know what we'd do without y'all! I'll never be able to repay Gulfstream for everything you've done for us."

"Ya got it wrong, babe. We're the ones who owe you - big time! We'll talk about that later. Whatcha need, girl?"

"Ken, I'm lookin' at fuel burnoff rates, distances, estimated fuel remainin' on arrival in Sana'a. Jack Michaels gave me a list of nations offering safe haven after we leave there. Saudi Arabia is closer, but I've already had all the fun I want in that place and have no desire to return if possible. I'm lookin' at Dubai. My figures show we can make it, especially if we can find some friendly winds up here somewhere. Whataya think?"

"We're still watchin' your data flow and from what we see, you should be able to make Dubai with just under an hour's fuel left. You comfortable with that?"

"How's the forecast for the area?"

In the background, she heard Ken say, "John, hand me that last forecast, please?" Then he continued, "Looks good, Mac. Clear, no weather systems around that would change it. Daytime highs in that entire region are through the roof so you'll use up a lot more on takeoff from Yemen but as fast as you get to altitude where it's cool, you'll save fuel. I still don't think you'd have a problem. You'll be empty on takeoff, low weight so you can be out of the heat in a _hurry_! But we're watchin' closely so if it changes much, we'll let ya know. It's your airplane so it'll be your decision." With the sound of more than one chuckle in the background, he added, "We heard about your little episode last night. Good move, mama!"

Molly grinned. "Okay, Ken. We'll plan on Dubai unless something changes. Thanks, my friend."

"You're welcome, sweetheart. We're here, so call if ya need us, okay? By the way, the general says Hello."

"Okay, Ken. Thank you...7700 out."

* * *

Tony felt as if he was going to melt right into the rooftop. The intensity of the sun seemed to be magnified beyond all physical possibilities. He glanced at the silent man to his right who never moved, never stopped his endless searching everything in the vicinity through the scope of that fearsome weapon he cradled against his body like a baby. He'd never know how Gibbs did it. It was as if his mind had completely divorced itself from the physical world.

He opened a bottle of water and bumped the former Marine on the shoulder. "Need to drink, Boss."

With only a small grunt, Gibbs made one last sweep of the area, then accepted the bottle from his former Senior Field Officer. After downing nearly half of the bottle, he turned enough to see Cartwright, who was alertly watching everything around them. "Ya got water, Cartwright?" he whispered.

"Yes, sir. Hope we got enough to see us through. This heat is worse than July in Texas," he griped.

Gibbs let the 'sir' pass and his lips relaxed enough that a smile almost broke through. ' _Good kid, there,'_ he thought to himself. Tony had a good solid team and he was happy for him. Draining the rest of the bottle, he handed the empty back to Tony. When they left, there would no trace that they had ever been there.

Tony tucked the empty into a pack with the others, wiped the sweat from his face again though he didn't really know why he bothered. Sweat poured from all three of them unceasingly. They'd have to watch it. Didn't need to be hampered by dehydration during one of the most important ops they'd ever have.

The oppressive heat made time seem to crawl by slower than possible. Tony's head felt as if it was going to split wide open any minute now. Man, what he'd give for a cool, dark room where he could close his eyes and let a handful of aspirin or something do their thing!

His thoughts were interrupted by a voice in his earpiece, "Got movement. Al-Sarafa is at the airport. Positive ID. Plane's gotta be close."

Cartwright lifted his powerful binoculars to his eyes, his head just high enough to allow him to see over the rim that extended above the roof itself. He glanced over at Gibbs who maintained that calm, cool demeanor in spite of being slowly broiled in this God-forsaken blast furnace. He shook his head. ' _Tougher man than I am, I'll give 'im that!'_ the Texan thought with a hint of a grin.

* * *

Molly was nervous. Would these people even let them in? She had no idea what Sameer would do if they couldn't.

She finally keyed the mike, "Sana'a Approach Control, Gulfstream 7700 requestin' clearance for approach and landing."

She held her breath. Then, after a long delay, they heard in barely understandable English, "Gulfstream 7700, you are cleared for approach to runway 27, northwest winds at eight, pressure 30.01."

She and Tim drew deep breaths at the same time. Hopefully, in a few minutes, this ordeal would be over.

As soon as they were lined up with the runway, the Control Tower told them, "Gulfstream, you are cleared to land. Follow jeep after rollout."

Tim answered, "Roger, 7700."

A 'Follow Me' jeep? They exchanged another glance. Well, it should probably to be expected but both pilots felt their discomfort level ratchet up a little higher than it already was.

After the jet had touched down, Sameer left his seat and was looking out all the windows. He didn't even know what he was hoping to see, but his heart was pounding in his chest with excitement. He'd done it! He hoped that Jamil knew somehow. He hoped he'd made his brother proud.

He glanced at the big duffel bag. This money would do much to help rid Yemen of the rottenness that had destroyed everything it had been in the past and into the future. He had no idea how he could help except with the money he had brought with him and his two hands.

Jamil had made him practice at a firing range for countless hours until his aim was true and his hands were steady. He would fight for his homeland.

* * *

The three men on the baking rooftop couldn't take their eyes from the sight of the white jet lined up with a runway. It steadily lost altitude to touchdown on a precise spot on the long, wide runway, then touching down gently as a little poof of smoke jumped up when the landing gear first touched the asphalt.

The jet gradually slowed almost to a stop as it waited for the jeep with the big Follow Me sign on the back hurried out onto the runway. It turned around and began leading the jet toward the very spot where Gibbs had believed it would be parked.

He scanned everything with his scope, his breath slightly catching when he saw armed soldiers standing in an uneven line where the jet was headed. He felt Tony tense beside him, and there was the faint scratch of the pebbles covering the surface of the roof as Cartwright, in a crouch, slightly shifted his weight from one foot to the other.

The gleaming white jet came to an easy stop, but they immediately noticed that Molly had shut down only the engine on the same side as the door. With everything in them, Gibbs and the whole team positioned throughout the area, hoped that as soon as the hijacker deplaned, they'd light up the second engine and be able to get out of here.

The plane marshall was giving signals for the remaining engine to be shut down, but apparently Molly was ignoring him.

Tim could be briefly seen as he opened the door then gestured for Sameer to leave. For a moment the frightened Yemeni hesitated. He realized that he didn't know who to trust outside of this airplane. Whose soldiers were these he saw?

But finally he took the heavy bag of money and started down the stairs. Several soldiers rushed toward the stairs, rifles in hand, and intercepted him at the bottom of the stairs and hurried him away to an unknown location. The idealistic young Yemeni was never seen again.

The second Sameer cleared the stairs, Tim started the door on its upward motion to close, ignoring the gestures and yells from the man who seemed to be in charge of this small military detail.

The door shut and locked, Molly began the sequence that would start the left engine even as Tim was climbing back into his seat and buckling up. With the engines screaming mercilessly into the ears of the soldiers near the jet, they had to back away in sheer self-defense.

Molly added enough power for the jet to move and began a tight turn back toward the taxiway. "Sana'a, Gulfstream 7700 is taxiing for takeoff." She didn't even ask permission, she was just telling them.

"Gulfstream, you do not have permission to taxi. You must remain where you are!"

Molly didn't respond, just began taxiing as quickly as was prudent even under these conditions. They had gotten roughly a third of the way down the taxiway when Tim suddenly yelled, "Mac! Guns!"

* * *

::

to be continued

::


	5. Chapter 5

.

NCIS

The Carolina Connection Series

Book 2 Part 3

LIFE: VACATION

Chapter 5

Several jeeps were racing along each side of the jet, loaded with armed soldiers who angrily pointed rifles at them.

The Ground Controller's agitated voice came over the radio, "Gulfstream, you _must_ stop or be _fired_ upon! Stop immediately!"

Molly's heart sank. How she _hated_ to give in to these people! She slowly brought the throttles back to idle, and the jet rolled to a stop. After a long, long moment, the Follow Me jeep reappeared and gestured for her to turn the aircraft around and follow it.

It wasn't easy to get the jet turned around in the width of the taxiway, but she decided she didn't care if she ran over some of their stuff and put it out of commission. She added more power than was necessary as she locked one brake. The sudden increase of the scream of the engines startled the soldiers as they saw the jet surge and swing quickly through its one hundred eighty degree turn on the narrow pavement.

Watching from the roof, Jethro thought, ' _Uh-oh. Now they've made her mad.'_

Jeeps scrambled to try to get out of the way and soldiers held their ears tightly as the unearthly scream of the engines tore through their brains.

Now taxiing docilely behind the Follow Me jeep, Molly's temper was building up steam. Tim said, "Molly, we gotta be careful now. You can't piss off somebody. Maybe they'll let us go in a few minutes."

Molly said nothing. As they again reached the parking area, she set the brakes and shut down the engines.

Checklists complete, cockpit secured, Molly went back to the cabin and got her Sig out of her bag and tucked it under her shirttail in the small of her back as Tim followed suit. Being armed now is why she had kept it hidden previously. If they were being hijacked, it was likely needed more at the destination than anywhere else these days.

Though Sameer was an undeniable threat, the relationship she and Tim had established with him had lessened that danger. Unless they attacked him, or if he got too frightened, Molly honestly didn't think he'd shoot them. And they certainly weren't going to do that. Not as long as he had that gun in his possession.

Someone was pounding on the side of the fuselage with fists and voices could be heard yelling something. She and Tim exchanged a look, Tim took her hand and held it tight, "We're okay, Mac. We'll get out of here. Just be cool." He knew how angry she was. _They had been sooo close!_

Tim walked forward and opened the door. Immediately soldiers clambered into the cabin, yelling in their language that neither pilot understood. However, it was clear that they were to deplane. Both picked up their small bags and went down the steps. At the bottom, they looked around seeing many soldiers milling around, but nobody seemed to be in charge.

Molly walked over to a small, barely noticeable access port on the underside of the plane and flipped it open. She entered a passcode then pressed a switch that closed the door, she then turned a selector to "Lock" and closed the panel. Returning to Tim's side, he muttered softly, "Didn't know that was there."

With a piece of a smile, Molly whispered back, "Got all kinds of stuff on that airplane. Remind me to tell ya about 'em sometime."

A soldier with all sorts of badges and other military trappings all over his ill-fitting uniform arrived in a jeep, got out and spoke sharply to them, gesturing for them to follow. Bags in hand, they followed the soldier until somebody tried to take Molly's bag from her. She whipped around, startling the guy.

"Get your hands off my stuff, ya hear me!?" she yelled in no uncertain terms. "Now back off!"

The soldier stood blinking at her. Then he glanced at his superior officer who said something and the chagrined man backed away.

Tim whispered, "Cool, Mac...Gotta stay cool."

Molly sighed in anger and frustration. "Yeah, I know."

"Maybe we'll be out of here soon." Or so he desperately hoped.

* * *

Certain Yemeni soldiers would never know how close they had come to death that day. A particular sniper had had them in his sights and one wrong move, or one shot fired, would have been all it took for large caliber bullets to wreak havoc in each of their brains.

The three agents had been thrilled when it first appeared that Molly and Tim were going to be able to pull off their escape, but they couldn't argue with so many high-powered weapons leveled at them.

Soft voices spoke in their earpieces as various members of the unit shifted position to keep the two NCIS agents in sight.

One team member related what he saw as the pair vanished into the air terminal. Taking a significant risk, he slipped into the terminal as inconspicuously as possible.

Softly his voice gave them what they wanted to know. "Both subjects appear to be in good condition. The female subject is angry - and the officers don't seem too sure how to handle her. The male subject has a hand on her shoulder."

"Not sure but I think I make out a weapon under the shirts of both subjects in the back under their belts.

"Holy shit! Al-Sarafa is here! He's being introduced to them now by an unknown civilian, probably Al-Sarafa's interpreter. Lots of talk from the Prez to the interpreter - - - to the subjects but nothing in return. I'm gathering that the Prez wants them to join him - - - - somewhere - - but they don't want to go."

"Okay, now they're moving on a little further into the terminal - - I can see a bunch of photogs ahead - - - still walking - - -now stopping as Prez seems to be making a flowery speech of some kind, gesturing toward the subjects with big smiles as if this is the highlight of his life. Photogs are doing what they do - - - - Prez still talking to the subjects as if they understood him."

"Okay. Photogs being moved away. Prez appears to be inviting them to join him - - - - in his car - - female subject shaking her head - - gesturing back toward where they came in - - - - armed escort of the Prez now crowding the two subjects, forcing them to move toward the exit and the car."

"Subjects not happy - - - - both are in the car now - - it's moving off - - - - - that's all I can see. They're gone."

* * *

It didn't seem to bother Al-Sarafa that the Americans understood not the first word he was saying since he continued chattering during the entire drive to what they learned was the Presidential Palace. They were 'ushered' inside by the continued pressure of the current President's armed escort.

Granted, it was a lovely place, certainly worthy of the designation as palace, but the only thing Tim and Molly wanted to see was the now-very familiar cockpit of the jet.

A large low table, placed in the center of a super-thick carpet bearing a colorful, complicated pattern was loaded with platters of fresh fruit, stacks of thin flatbread, smaller bowls of olive oil beside each place, and other things neither American recognized.

Gesturing for them to sit, Al-Sarafa sat across from them crosslegged on the floor, still grinning what was apparently supposed to be a friendly smile at them. Molly and Tim noted that the stupid grin seemed to lower whatever his IQ might be by quite a few points and dental hygiene was not one of his strong points.

As he ate, Molly couldn't help but notice that crumbs, drops of oil and other particles of food fell into his thick, unruly black beard without notice. With a shudder, she wondered what else might be hiding in there.

Taking a bit of the fruit, both picked at it while the man continued his non-stop babbling. Then, at long last, Al-Sarafa stood and the Americans quickly got to their feet. Now maybe they could leave. Some variation of "It's been lovely but now we really must go," was ready to spring from their lips if the idiot would ever shut up for a second.

The President still rambled on as the interpreter finally appeared. He translated into halting English, "Our gracious and glorious leader begs you to be his guests at our finest hotel. You will have the wonderful opportunity to see the unsurpassed beauty of our land in the coming days. He's sure you will have a most memorable visit and looks forward to seeing you again."

Molly took a deep breath in preparation for venting her outrage, but Tim clamped a strong hand around her bicep and responded quickly, "Though we only want to go home, we will accept his offer for the night. Tomorrow morning we will leave."

The interpreter hesitantly translated for the President, afraid to deliver the message. An expression of displeasure quickly fluttered across the older man's face, though he dredged up the dreadful smile again, spoke a few words, then left.

The interpreter translated, "President Al-Sarafa is sure you'll enjoy a pleasant evening and looks forward to seeing you after your visits to see some of the beauty of this lovely city."

With that, the interpreter quickly disappeared and the armed "escorts" nudged the Americans back through the Palace towards its intricately carved front double doors then back into the car. Leaving the Palace gates, the car hurried to a huge monstrosity that absolutely dripped with Arabic architecture in every window, door, window ledge and roofline that served as the city's premier hotel and they were "invited" inside.

By-passing the front desk, they were hustled directly into an elevator to an upper floor where a soldier opened a door through which they were all but pushed. Cautiously entering, Tim and Molly glanced around hurriedly, turning suddenly when the door behind them slammed shut. The ominous sound of a lock clicking into place was not welcome as they exchanged an alarmed look. Each had entertained the thought of slipping out of the hotel and making it back to the airport. Apparently their "host" was taking precautions against that very event.

Tim tried the door knobs but they wouldn't budge. An irritated voice on the other side bellowed something unintelligible in response.

Turning from the door, they looked around, making a closer inspection of the place that now served as their prison. It was a two-room suite, a large bedroom that included a spacious ensuite bathroom plus an even larger sitting/dining/living area that included a very large plasma screen TV. Several large, colorful bouquets in elaborate vases sat on tables and a console as if the room was ready to receive "real" guests.

Checking the windows, there was nothing that would offer them the opportunity for escape. Judging by the height, they were probably on about the tenth floor above the street. The Arabic characters on the elevator panel had been useless to them.

Both would have welcomed a room service menu that included a big juicy hamburger and a side order of fries with a pot of drinkable coffee.

The appointments of the room were grand enough, but none of it interested the two occupants. Molly's shoulders sagged as she stood in the middle of the room. "We would have been close to Dubai by now," she commented forlornly.

Tim asked without enthusiasm, "Wonder if they have hot water?"

* * *

Gibbs and his team made it off the roof without being spotted and joined up with the remainder of the larger team with him. Captain John Stancil, USMC Retired, and USMC Gunnery Sergeant Jethro Gibbs had a long history together and a bond that had been firmly forged during many close escapades during wars in the Middle East. They weren't necessarily close friends but they were battle buddies of long standing - and that was even better.

Stancil had men watching the palace and received word through his earpiece that both subjects had been taken inside for a time but were now being transported by car elsewhere. With curses that should have turned the air blue, the observers lost the car in the city's heavy traffic comprised of everything from ox carts and bicycles to heavily-laden trucks to late model cars. They were furious to have to report that location of the subjects was now unknown.

Gibbs' face was white from the stress of his facial muscles fighting to restrain himself. Eyes narrowed, mouth all but invisible, rage radiated from him. Stancil knew him and spoke very quietly. "Stand down, Gunny. We'll find 'em. It's a good bet that Al-Sarafa wants to milk whatever publicity he can from this, then he'll make a big show of giving them a big friendly farewell at the airport, loading them down with gifts. Ya think a camel will fit into the backend of that jet?"

Cold blue eyes silently shifted toward the leader of what he called 'the white hat mercenaries' but he made no comment. None of it was unexpected by Stancil. He had been in the company of this man too often and he knew that he could most likely make him see common sense which would prevent him from storming into the palace and shooting Al-Sarafa on sight. At least, he hoped he could.

Operatives of Stancil's unit, wearing ordinary Yemeni clothing, were spreading out across the city to investigate likely places where Gibbs' people could be held. The Grand Hotel of Sana'a was one of them.

Gibbs' looked at Tony. The tall agent looked as tightly wound as a new watch. Naturally hyper to begin with, energy was now rippling through the air around him. Gibbs exchanged a glance with Stancil.

"DiNozzo! You and O'Brien go check around outside. Keep a sharp eye out," Stancil barked.

Marty O'Brien stood, "Yes, sir! C'mon, Tony. The world awaits!"

Gibbs didn't know whether to accept the pairing with a grin or grab the two by the collar - sending one one way and the other in the opposite direction. He caught the quick glance Stancil sent and held his peace.

After a moment, Cartwright quietly eased over and took the place to Gibbs' right that Tony had just vacated. As next senior agent present, he understood it was his responsibility to cover the Boss. Stancil noted with a gleam of approval in his eye. Gibbs always seemed to find good people for his teams.

Time passed as Gibbs fought to root himself to this spot as word began to come back from two-man teams searching the city, "Location of subjects unknown," as one place after the other was checked off.

The team covering their best bet, the huge hotel, was unable to neither confirm nor deny their presence. They weren't registered and employees carefully denied ever seeing them when a dark-eyed 'Yemeni' whispered questions about Americans in the hotel. That still didn't mean they weren't there. The hotel would be under observation until they knew differently.

The sun was about to slide below the horizon, leaving streaks of unbelievable color in the sky as a farewell. Gibbs made a quick, confidential report to Morrow whose voice tried to convey confidence in his agents' return.

The State Department was in contact with so-called allies in that part of the world, but nobody seemed really interested in taking any action because "Arab hospitality is natural and the people of Yemen are delighted to have this wonderful opportunity to entertain their American guests."

Nothing from the CIA - anyone surprised?

Fornell was about to lose his mind trying to get some actual activity going. The FBI's international attaché offices, known as legats, were run out of the International Operations Division at FBI Headquarters in Washington but the senior agent was having trouble breaking down the barriers between his own division and the other.

The closest legat, which is always located in a US Embassy, was in Amman, Jordan. Prince Abdul was most willing to do what he could to help but he too was reluctant to take action at this early point, waiting for more concrete information. That isn't to say that he didn't immediately dispatch individuals fluent in the Yemeni dialects southward.

Gibbs steeled himself to remain calm, at least on the exterior. He'd have to trust his agents to rely on their training and on their inner strength that had gotten them safely through so far.

His _agents?_ He snorted at himself. One was a young man he had come to love much as he would a son - and the other was the woman he loved beyond all measure. Without her, he wouldn't even bother to go back to the States. The desert would be as good a place to go as any.

The room in the crowded city where they now waited was simply furnished in the normal Arab manner but was secure and comfortable enough.

Stancil had kept an eye on the former marine, having a pretty good idea of the emotions he hid under an unrelenting mask of cool indifference. Could he manage himself so well under these conditions? He wasn't sure he could. It would be a very long night.

Captain Stancil headed a most unusual band of men. Certainly they were mercenaries of a sort, and all were former Special Forces in the US, Canada or the UK. However, unlike Tank's unit, Stancil's men cared very much about the types of missions they accepted and carried out. Their specialty was rescue and recovery of missing persons. They would work only for the good guys, thus their unofficial moniker, the White Hats.

* * *

The talking heads were now sky-high with excitement! The brave pilots had safely arrived in Yemen but had now disappeared! It was a field day as all the 'experts' had to intone their deeply considered opinions and debate each other as to why something was or was not possible/predictable/impossible/absurd.

They were almost at fever pitch as record numbers of viewers around the world followed the amazing twists and turns of this incredible story.

For hours, cameras would focus on nothing but the deserted jet sitting alone and neglected on the tarmac. Exciting news coverage at its very best!

At the Naval Yard, Morrow was burning up the phones, pulling in every favor he'd ever owed anybody asking for help in finding the missing agents and bringing them safely home.

Abby and Dave Holland worked non-stop around the clock, searching for even the smallest clue that may help Gibbs find them. They took turns taking short naps now and then but the lab was never left unattended.

John ('Rocky' thanks to DiNozzo) Balboa and his team searched even the most outlandish sites in the hope that something, anything, would be found.

Robert Johannson, Carolyn Daughtry's former SFA, was still acting as Temporary Supervisory Senior Agent since her promotion to Athens, and his team were giving it their best effort.

It was just unthinkable that they wouldn't be able to find Tim and Mac. It simply couldn't even be considered. At times, many eyes found themselves staring at the empty desks that would normally be occupied by Team DiNozzo, and hearing the sound of rapid strides as Morrow's right-hand man went to and fro about his business.

It was an emptiness that couldn't be described. It was like having a vacuum settle around your heart.

They had watched the video footage from Yemen that captured the near-escape of the two missing agents in the jet. They had cheered and yelled as it seemed the getaway would be successful, then melted into total discouragement and utter dismay as the armed soldiers brought the chase to an end.

Their only smiles came as they watched the jet quickly whip around on the taxiway, nearly taking several jeeps out as it did. It was satisfying to see soldiers and weapons spilling out of jeeps that frantically tried to evade long sweeping wings and screaming jet blast.

* * *

There was one king-sized bed in the large bedroom of the suite but, as tired as they were, neither Molly nor Tim hesitated. "You sleep on that side, I'll sleep over here on this side."

Hot showers had been a very welcome treat and deep sleep came quickly.

However, deep in the blackness of night, they were jolted awake by the sound of gunfire and thudding feet just outside their door and each bolted towards their weapons and clothing more appropriate than the makeshift sleepwear they had contrived for themselves.

Just as they were about to leave the bedroom, the door to the suite burst open as heavily-armed intruders crashed in, screaming at them wildly. Knowing they wouldn't stand a chance, both agents slowly placed their weapons on the floor and backed up into the bedroom, hands raised shoulder-high.

Ignoring the orders being yelled at them in Yemeni, the two quickly donned their footwear and grabbed their small bags. Handling them roughly, the armed men shoved the captives ahead of them, jabbing them with the muzzles of their rifles as they were herded down a stairwell that finally ended in a covered garage beneath the hotel.

Thrown into the trunk of an aging car and covered by a musty-smelling blanket, Tim and Molly held onto each other for dear life as they were thrown about in the dark trunk. Both would be bruised at the very least and cuts wouldn't be out of the question.

The two were really scared though they knew to keep themselves under control. This was mandatory in every situation they'd ever have either as agents or pilots. They had to remain calm.

Hijacked and now kidnapped from their kidnappers. _Would this nightmare_ _ever_ _end?_

Both lost track of time as they were thrown hard against unyielding metal and sharp edges in the trunk, unable to grab hold of anything except each other.

A lot of time passed before the old car skidded to a stop on a rutted dirt track that passed as a road around here. The trunk was opened, followed by more loud orders they didn't have a chance of understanding as rifles jabbed into ribs or spines for emphasis.

Badly battered, dazed and in pain after the long ride, they stood still as their hands were tied behind them with cord of some kind, then shoved and pushed toward a small tent firmly anchored in now-cool desert sand about two hundred feet from the track.

On the way, Molly lost her footing in the loose sand and fell hard, unable to catch herself. Tim bent over to try to help her up but was greatly hindered by having his hands tied behind him. As he struggled to find some way to help her, one of the brutes kicked him hard, sending him sprawling into the sand, as well.

There was a lot of loud, coarse laughter as their captors seemed to find this very funny. Yanking them to their feet, the uncaring kidnappers hustled the two the short remaining distance, then threw them into the tent, each landing hard on the worn piece of dirty carpet that served as flooring.

A group of other larger tents were erected nearby as ten to twelve men milled around the encampment after a large campfire was built in their midst. Neither prisoner had any idea where they were other than the obvious fact that they were somewhere outside the city in the desert. Pastel traces of dawn blushed in the eastern sky.

Both prisoners were silent. What was there to say? Even if they managed to escape, they had nothing with which to survive out in the desert alone. Neither did they know in what direction to travel.

They exchanged a long look, acknowledging the extreme seriousness of their situation but also acknowledging that they wouldn't give up without a fight. Their Sigs had been taken but somehow, Tim's cellphone in his pocket had been overlooked, and they each still had the small knives hidden in their belts. Gibbs' rule #9: never go anywhere without a knife.

Getting themselves seated upright, Tim asked, "You okay, Mac?"

Molly nodded. "Yeah. I guess. You?"

"Yeah. I'm good."

Molly glanced at the bruises beginning to appear on his sweet, boyish face and the bits of blood where something had scraped or cut him, and almost snorted. She loved this man who had become her brother in all but blood. She couldn't imagine being in this particular situation with anyone else. "Tim, you're a pretty bad liar, ya know that?"

He glanced at her quickly but averted his eyes as a smile crept across his face. Busted. Then he suggested softly, "Why don't we just sit tight until we get a better idea of what these guys intend to do?"

Molly nodded with a sigh. "Not like we can go anywhere, anyhow. Get what intel we can, then make a decision. If we have that chance."

Tim just nodded with a sigh of his own. Surely they wouldn't be killed right away. Two Americans would be worth a lot of ransome money, wouldn't they? Maybe. Would these guys be regarded as kidnappers or terrorists? The US wouldn't negotiate with terrorists. He certainly hoped they'd pick the former instead of the latter.

When would anybody even know they had been kidnapped? Al-Sarafa's bunch should know fairly quickly when somebody came to check on or relieve the soldiers, it could be presumed, but the grinning buffoon may just tell the very limited press and the state-run media that his guests were traveling about the country greatly enjoying Yemeni hospitality.

They knew Gibbs and those at NCIS wouldn't buy that but what could they do?

Tim and Molly propped themselves against each other and gradually dozed off. The accumulated fatigue since they had left DC days ago was taking an enormous toll on them in addition to the added stress of being hijacked, kidnapped, then kidnapped again and roughly spirited away.

Noise at the entrance to the tent roused both of them. A flap was raised as two bearded men entered, the younger one carrying a tray of something. Placing the tray on the worn carpet that served as a floor, he gestured for them to eat.

Tim and Molly just looked at him, then looked at each other and grinned slightly. Then it must have dawned on the Yemenis that the hands of the captives were still tied. The older man handed the younger one a sharp blade he pulled from his belt, yammering something at him.

Their hands were freed and the two men left. The first thing Tim did was pull the cell from his pocket. He got a very low service connection but he decided to try it. They had no idea where Gibbs was since they hadn't seen him since they were leaving Vegas, but he punched in a number anyway, hoping desperately that somehow the signal would make it through.

* * *

Tony was pacing restlessly back and forth like a caged lion. He and Marty had had no better luck than any of the others, however, one of the two-man teams was later able to confirm that there had been a shooting at the Grand Hotel and bodies of several uniformed soldiers had been carried out.

Uniformed soldiers wouldn't have been there without a reason - such as guarding prisoners. That the guards had been murdered made it clear that Molly and Tim had been kidnapped from Al'Sarafa's control but by whom was anybody's guess. Activity at the Palace had also been confirmed and the number of guards around the Palace grounds had been tripled. Al-Sarafa had many enemies and it was possible that power was again about to shift into a different set of hands. A new President every week.

Undercover operatives were out now, listening in many gathering places, watching to see who was where, doing what, scouring for any clue.

Gibbs sat like a statue, unmoving, seemed to be barely breathing. Waiting.

Cartwright silently watched his teammates, keeping himself alert for any possible danger.

Gibbs' cell buzzed. "Yeah...Gibbs.'

All he could hear was a crackling sound at first but at times McGee's distant voice broke through with an isolated word here and there, "...can...us?...need...Boss...tent...know...are..." and the signal faded completely.

Gibbs had leaped to his feet at the first word, commanding the attention of everyone in the room. Slowly closing his phone, the ever-cool sniper said softly, "It's them. Real bad signal. They're somewhere out in the desert."

He dialed, waiting for the signal, then ordered crisply, "Abs, trace Tim's cellphone now! Signal was really low here..." He waited while the scientist rapidly keyed her computer, bringing up a program she and Tim had written a long time back...There was silence as the sound of her black-tipped fingers flew over the keys...then...

"Gibbs! Gibbs! _I got it!_ It's really, really feeble but it's _there_! Somewhere to your east, probably thirty miles or so... _Oh! Oh, nooo!_ _Gibbs, it just went dark!_ Do you think they're okay? Can you get to them? Do you want me to keep trying? Oh, Gibbs, they have to be alright. They've been..."

" _ABS!_ Breathe! See if you can raise it again. Keep tryin' and call me if you get anything new on it."

Snapping the cell shut, he turned to Stancil, "They're about thirty miles east. In a tent, I think."

Stancil was already unrolling a map. The two stood studying it, discussing possible locations as others crowded around. Instructions began to fly to various teams about the city. This intel would allow them to greatly narrow their search for addition info.

The topography of this part of Yemen consisted of high mountains and desert. There were a billion places to hide in either one.

At the US Embassy legat in Amman, Jordan, an FBI agent dialed a number and started asking questions of the party on the other end.

"Oh, most certainly, location is very important. To you, the desert may appear to be an empty, unmarked wasteland. But to a native of the land, it is as clearly marked into various tribal lands as are your state maps. Except to travel along established routes and tracks, strangers do not wander into lands that belong to another unless there are mutual tribal alliances or agreements. To do so would be to invite trouble."

Thanking the source, the information was relayed to interested parties in the area, but one, in particular, took closer notice than others.

Another call back to DC. "Tom? Need info on which tribe or tribes hold land east of Sana'a and who they have alliances with. Need it yesterday."

* * *

A short time later, Stancil's unit was already beginning to make its move. They would follow the track that led eastward out of the city for the distance of about thirty miles to see what they could find. Their custom-made Land Rovers were topped off with spare fuel cans strapped to the sides of each.

Cases and cases of bottled water were packed in each one, as well the stacks of MREs the Captain had somehow brought in with him. They had tents to sleep in and sets of the flowing white robes that tribesmen traditionally wore they could wear over their uniforms.

Gibbs and his two agents sat in the lead vehicle with Stancil. As soon as they reached the edge of the city, the 'road' turned into a bumpy, rutted track that led across a stretch of desert and into a range of high mountains. They _had_ to make contact with the kidnappers before they could get too far ahead of them.

* * *

After they picked over the tray of food, the older bearded man appeared at the tent entrance again, ordering them out.

Glancing around, the agents saw tents being struck and repacked, plenty of sand being kicked over the place where last night's fire had burned and, even more alarming, the old car was being pushed behind a sand dune that was tall enough to hide it from the road.

Then Molly gasped. A group of light brown camels were being led to the area by young men. She locked wide eyes with Tim. They were being moved to some unknown place under the ruse of being just another small desert caravan or family peacefully meandering across the desert, minding their own business.

* * *

::

to be continued

::

* * *

Author's Note:

Apologies to Mother Earth for taking liberties with her topography in that area of the world. I inserted a small section of desert just outside Sana'a which doesn't exist 'cause I gotta do what I gotta do for the story, right?

Also, Yemeni people are working hard to straighten up their country. The fighting continues between various factions, but they're working on it.

What do you think of the story so far?


	6. Chapter 6

.

NCIS

The Carolina Connection Series

Book 2 Part 3

LIFE: VACATION

Chapter 6

There were very few things that Molly truly feared - and after one evil look from the cranky animal onto which she was now being forced to climb, camels just joined that short list. This creature hated her; she knew it! It was big and heavy and smelled worse than an entire herd of wet goats. At first opportunity, it would probably throw her off and stomp on her.

Her only consolation was that she and Tim were to be carried by the same animal. She wouldn't have to deal with it alone.

Now seated behind her on a broad saddle of sorts, Tim felt the tremors running through Molly. "We're okay, Mac. He looks too old to try anything. Just hang on; I've got you."

Molly wouldn't trust her voice, so she just nodded. Tim probably couldn't discern it from the shaking she didn't seem to be able to stop. She'd just keep her eyes closed. Maybe that would help.

Tim wasn't all that happy to be on this smelly, unpleasant animal, either. He had ridden horses and managed just fine so maybe this wouldn't be so bad. His feet found whatever it was that served as a stirrup and showed Mac where to put her feet.

Then, one of the captors gave a command to the camel, and it started to get up - - by raising its hind legs first. This motion pitched both riders forward, and Molly shrieked loudly, sure she was going headfirst over this thing, and it was going to chew her up!

Thankfully, Tim was able to balance himself with the stirrups and had a strong arm wrapped around Mac's middle. He was even more thankful when the front end stood to match the backend. He made a silent vow to himself that if he ever got back home, he'd never leave again!

They were also discovering that the desert had plenty of wildlife in it: hideous spiders, deadly snakes, scorpions, and desert flies that could bite a chunk out of you - and camels.

Molly was getting her breath back when another rider slowed near them just long enough to take the long reins of the reluctant camel and they began moving.

Tim was instantly alarmed. This motion was too much like that - - of a boat - on water - - - _'Oh, I can't get sick! I can't! Think about something else - - like what? - - - - oh, no, he was getting that strange feeling in his throat.'_

"Mac - - I think - I'm - getting - - sick," he moaned. He closed his eyes and moaned loudly.

 _"You better not, McGee!_ Don't you dare! We probably won't get another shower til we get home! Don't you dare mess us up!"

She was right. They'd just to wear the mess if he - - - _'don't even think about it don'teventhinkabouitdon'teventhinkaboutit_ \- - - _think about - uh - Mac's threat! Maybe I can distract myself with that.'_

Then he heard her ask sharply, "How is the V1 speed calculated?"

His mind searched back over the training and teaching she had given him. "Uh, those speeds are based on weights, temperature, wind, field elevation and runway slope, varying if there is ice, water, snow present or if derated thrust is being used. The biggest factor is weight. All of the speeds are required for certifying the aircraft. You calculate it using tables usually included in the manufacturer's pilot's manual."

"What is Standard Weight Empty of an aircraft?"

"Um, that's - the weight of the airframe and engines with all standard equipment installed. It also includes the unusable fuel and oil."

"What is adverse yaw?"

"Adverse yaw is - -"

"What is featherin'?"

"Feathering is when you -"

"What is a constant-speed propeller?"

"Ahhh, that's a prop that - -"

"What is Absolute Altitude."

"Absolute Altitude is - -"

"What is meant by Instrument Meteorological Conditions?"

"IMC is when certain conditions - - "

Molly kept firing question after question at him on a variety of flight topics and technicalities he had studied with her, and as he focused his mind on each one, answering correctly, he forgot about being sick.

It helped Molly, as well, as it diverted her mind somewhat from looking at the back of the head this big, smelly, lumbering creature who wanted to eat her - just because. Though their captors didn't know their language, they seemed to understand what their captives were doing and found it mildly amusing that they were so afraid of the camel. It was one of the oldest, tamest of all the herd, chosen simply for its good humor and patience.

At some point, they briefly stopped to have a little cheese, some fruit and were given two fresh bottles of water, and then it was back onto the camels. Expecting it this time, both were more prepared for the rising process of the animal. On and on they trekked. They seemed to be heading toward some mountains and Molly softly asked Tim, "Can camels go into mountains?"

"Don't know. Don't think so. Think that's where we're going?"

"Looks like it. We're sure headed that way."

The Yemeni ahead of them turned back to them and barked a sharp order. "Guess we're supposed to be quiet," Molly whispered.

They continued to whisper to one another from time to time commenting on this or that. Thankfully, Tim's stomach no longer seemed to care about the camel's motion, and he was able to relax a bit.

The rocking motion was beckoning Molly to sleep, but she didn't want Tim to have to support her weight if she did. And she didn't _dare_ fall off. This thing probably had a long list of terrible things it could do to a human.

Her mind drifted back home - to Jethro and Roger. Where could Jethro be? Probably back at the yard driving everybody crazy. She desperately wanted to feel his strong, warm body against her, to be able to inhale that indescribable scent that was Jethro's alone. A touch of spice, a little sawdust, a hint of bourbon, and other unnamed things that made him so unique. Maybe a little gunpowder wouldn't be out of place, either. As her grandfather would say, he was full of piss and vinegar.

That beautiful lopsided smile that made her melt, that evil little mischievous grin that made her want to hold him down and tickle him silly but he'd always get the better of her. She wondered if people would ever believe that the fiercesome Gibbs was ticklish.

His eyes. He didn't need to talk; they could say it for him. There were so many sides to who he was. Clever, witty, funny, serious, angry, intelligent, challenging, impatient, demanding, sexy, loving, and so very kind and tender-hearted - which he tried his best to keep well-hidden.

And dear, dear sweet Roger. A smile eased across her lips. She saw him in her mind back when they were getting used to each other, and she was learning the difficult sign commands. Roger would get so disgusted when she'd mess up and there was no way she couldn't laugh at him. His expressions let her know exactly what he was thinking!

And there were the times he had stayed on high alert for hours to protect her. He had been willing to fight to the death to get to her when they were attacked and shot. Somewhere in her deep subconscious mind that night, she had believed that Roger had died, killed by the bullet George Langford put in him. Oh, that joyous day when she was released from the hospital and taken to Gibbs' house. Roger undoubtedly set a new land speed record racing toward her when she got out of the car.

She remembered so many times when she felt lonely, he'd come climb up into her lap or onto her bed and snuggle with her, easing her pain and chasing the loneliness away with nothing but the sheer power of his great love.

A quote came to her mind as she thought of the beautiful shepherd: "A memory can be a photograph taken through the heart, making an exclusive second last forever." She was so thankful to have these memories.

She realized that she was near tears and turned her mind to find something else with which to occupy herself, finally settling on a particularly interesting cold case she had been working on before she left DC. Closing her eyes, she brought everything about the case to mind and began reviewing every tiny detail about it, searching for the clue that would unlock its secrets.

* * *

Tim's mind centered mostly on his family and others close to him. If they were as widely broadcast as Ken had said, surely they knew about all this now.

His mom would be the strong one as long as the others in her family needed her to be.

His father? Hmm. Not really sure. If he were at sea, he'd stay there for as long his assignment lasted. If he was home on leave, he'd probably be on a golf course with his peers. That was just the way his father was so he wasn't going to let it bother him. He was used to it by now. Sort of. There just many more things ahead of him on his dad's list of what was important.

And Sarah. Oh, sweet Sarah. Headstrong and opinionated but also smart, beautiful, funny, loving and devoted to her older brother. She'd probably be at the Yard making life completely miserable for anybody she could get to.

He smiled. He loved his sister dearly and would do anything in the world for her - even quitting his job when she had gotten into trouble some time back. She seemed more settled in her life now. Maybe she had learned something from that painful time.

Lost in their individual thoughts, neither had noticed that they were now at the foot of the mountains and the land around them wasn't desert sand anymore. The man who had been leading their camel dismounted from his own camel and gave the orders to theirs to lower itself. The agents dismounted onto legs that wobbled after having spent so much time bowed around the camel's wide body. Muscles suddenly didn't want to behave themselves and the captors laughed at the Americans until they had tears in their eyes.

Tim and Molly looked upward. They were heading into the mountains.

They were loaded into the back of an ancient pickup truck along with two guards, all the tents and other stuff the Yemeni traveled with. Two other old pickups would carry all the others. The sun was getting lower in the sky so surely they would be camping in the mountains tonight. Somehow this was unsettling to both Americans. It was as if they had subconsciously felt that they could be rescued in the desert but not in the mountains.

There was a rocky track that led up the side of the mountain, uncomfortably close to a ledge that dropped way too many feet down to a deep ravine and got worse as the old trucks slowly ground their way upward. Tim and Molly sat close to each other, trying to keep each other warm as the evening chill settled in.

Their stomachs were empty and grumbling. They had had only that little bit of fruit for both breakfast and lunch and it was long gone. Nothing to be done about it but try to ignore it. Maybe their captors would stop soon and make camp.

But, as time went on, the trucks gave no sign of ending the long climb. Neither Tim nor Molly believed they were even on a road now. The ride was horrendously rough and they held tightly onto the side of the pickup hoping they'd not be thrown out.

On and on they went, too exhausted now to do anything but try to stay alive with as few injuries as possible. If one of them got badly injured, neither agent would put it past these men to simply shoot him or her and keep moving with the remaining one.

When Tim roused enough to take notice of their surroundings, the trucks' headlights proved that they were finally leaving the mountains and were approaching another section of desert. _Where_ were they being taken? His hope for rescue sank lower and lower. He doubted that even Gibbs could find them now.

* * *

After having spent the entire night crossing the mountains to wherever they were now, and now back on camels again somewhere out in a desert, the two captives were almost beyond caring. They were too exhausted, hungry and thirsty to do anything more than cling to each other as best they could.

They had a different set of captors now, the previous ones handing them over at the edge of the desert, though there was no difference in their treatment and lack of care.

The spirits of both Tim and Molly were about at rock bottom. Tim had gestured for water for the two of them receiving only a mocking laugh in response. "Hang on, Molly. We'll get out of this somehow," he whispered to his second sister.

* * *

Captain Stancil's crew checked the tough Range Rovers before they headed out into the desert. At thirty miles, they dismounted from the vehicles and searched both sides of the rough track carefully, finding faint signs that people had been there, but no indication of where they went.

Gibbs' heart sank. Could they really find Molly and Tim? His sharp eyes scanned their surroundings in a three hundred sixty degree circle. Nothing.

Then one of the trackers found signs that he believed pointed toward the mountains. Hanging on to the best clue they had, the Range Rovers followed what was supposed to be a track to the mountains. At the foot, the small caravan of rugged vehicles halted as Stancil and Gibbs conferred with each other and their own advisors, which in Gibbs' case was Tony and Jon.

In agreement, they decided to camp where they were until daylight. No one wanted to drive or fall into a deep ravine. Unhappy at having to stop, the men made themselves as comfortable as possible either in seats, or across the hoods or on the roofs of the Rovers.

Gibbs spent the night watching the eastern sky. He had entertained wonderful, precious memories of Molly since he had first met her. Unending visions of her face floated across his mind's eye - happy, sad, laughing, studious, serious, mischievous, attentive, daydreaming, the day they were married. Oh, he'd never forget the way she looked, the look on her face as she and Roger crossed the yard to the place where he had stood. She would have put an angel to shame. And the wonders of their first night together. No words could even begin to describe all that he felt - mentally, emotionally or physically.

She had freed him from so many of the devils that had tormented him most all of his life. She was healing to him. Healing of memories, healing of emotions, healing of his heart.

A military shrink had told him long ago that he suffered from Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, not only from too much time in war but the loss of his beloved Shannon and Kelly. He had denied it and sought refuge in one bottle of bourbon after the other. It was easier than facing his demons. How his liver had survived, he couldn't answer.

He knew now that he no longer had to turn to alcohol to dull his pain enough to get through a day or night. It just wasn't needed anymore. For the first time, he could turn to _life_ instead of a steady diet of nothing but death, loss and despair. He had Molly.

That's not to say that it didn't take effort and determination on his part to mostly stay away from alcohol until his body became conditioned to living without being half-pickled. But nobody could ever accuse Gunny Gibbs of not having will power, though most would call it being as hard-headed and stubborn as a mule.

As the sky above the surrounding mountain peaks began to show hints of pink and gold, Gibbs lit a small fire from bits of fuel he could find close around and started a battered old campfire coffee pot brewing. As the tantalizing smell drifted through their 'camp', men began stirring, eyes blinking, trying to stretch muscles and backs stiffened by their unorthodox sleeping places as they slowly began their day.

Gibbs couldn't remember the time difference between Yemen and Washington, but he called anyway. After only a moment, a tired Dave Holland answered, "What can I do for you, Agent Gibbs?"

"Dave, any traces of McGee's cell?"

"No, sir, I'm sad to say there hasn't been a thing. Is there _anything_ I can do to help? Anyway at all."

"Don't think so. I'll be back in touch."

He sighed and exchanged a look with Stancil. "Ready to ride, Gunny?"

"On your six, Cap'n."

The hard trek of the mountain took the nearly all day, as scouts managed to find faint tracks in the rocky track they tried to follow. Most of the men thought it would actually be better to just get out and walk beside the Rovers instead of trying to endure the torturous ride.

One of those walking spotted something wedged between some rocks. Closer investigation revealed that it was a cell phone. Tim's cell phone. It had come out of his pocket during the unimaginably rough ride and was tossed over the side of the pickup truck.

As twilight ended a day of trudging across mountains, they were surprised to see where the tire tracks had led them. There was nothing ahead now but a vast, empty desert. The constantly blowing wind quickly concealed tracks and other indications of the passage of others.

Stancil gave the signal for the Rovers to circle where they'd make camp for the night. Gibbs stood on the outer side of the camp circle, staring out at the desert as the cooling evening air brushed past his face. _'Molly-girl, where are you? Tim? You takin' care of her, aren't ya?'_ Of course he was if there was any way humanly possible. The sibling-type bond between those two would never break.

Early the next morning, after a few hours of uncomfortable, restless sleep, Gibbs woke when Stancil poked him, cup of coffee in hand. He staggered to his feet, pouring the blistering hot brew down his throat, feeling something that might have been a twinge of energy if there had been an instrument sufficiently powerful enough to find it.

Still totally confused by the time differences, Gibbs punched another number on his cell. It was a few minutes after midnight in Washington, DC and Director Morrow had just pulled the covers up for the first time in days when his phone buzzed. Trying to get his burning eyes back open and focused, he answered, "What you got, Gibbs?"

"Tom, we need a satellite feed for this area. Abby or Dave can zero in on my cell for my location. We've crossed part of the desert, followed them across some mountains and now they're back out in a huge desert again. We'll never find them without it. Just can't."

Pulling himself upright, Morrow answered as his bare feet sought his slippers somewhere on the floor. "I'll see what I can do, Gibbs." He tried to hide a jaw-breaking yawn as he continued, "I'll call you back."

Morrow's wife had left their bed as soon as the cell buzzed, going to the kitchen to put coffee on to perk. Her husband would need it.

Morrow wasn't having a whole lot of luck getting the sat-feed. Instead, he was getting a lot of runaround and BS.

At some point after SecNav had also been pulled from his bed, a gruff voice called the Director. "Morrow, Nathan Nicholson. Hear you need a sat-feed."

"'Morning, General. Yeah. Gibbs is tracking the kidnappers through hell and high water but needs some help."

"Don't let the rest of those candy-asses bother you. I got one ready for you now. Who do I talk to to start the feed?"

"I'm at home, so call Dr. Dave Holland at the NCIS lab. He has a location on Gibbs' cell and the feed can go straight to MTAC. I'll be there as soon as I can get dressed. We appreciate it a lot, General."

"No problem. Gunny is one of a kind. He saved my butt a time of two in the past - and a Marine always pays his debts."

Dave Holland located Gibbs' cell and read the coordinates to the general who just hung up. _'Wow. That was the real Gen. Nicholson? I'm swimming in water that is definitely too deep for me!'_

In an amazingly short span of time, a jeans-clad Director Morrow entered the building and went straight up to MTAC where on-duty technicians were already fine-tuning the feed. Morrow knew he was going to need more eyes up here besides his tired, aging peepers so he had dispatch call Balboa's team in.

Arriving first, John Balboa reported immediately to MTAC and was already on his cell with Gibbs as the satellite began focusing closely on Gibbs' location. Sitting quietly in one of the back row seats in MTAC, the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff watched the massive screen.

Seeing the vehicles and men with Gunny, Nicholson grinned. He'd bet a month's pay that was John Stancil with him. Good company to be in. If there was going to be a firefight, Stancil is the man you wanted with you. Of course, Stancil would say the same thing about Gunny Gibbs. Damn good men, both of 'em!

The satellite pulled back a little as it searched for any activity in the desert. The techs drew in closely on a group of camels and a couple of dozen or so people but neither Tim nor Molly could be identified. Drawing back out, it found and focused on another larger group, but no luck there either. Finding and eliminating the closest and most logical groups, Gibbs said, "Go back to the first bunch. They can't be all that far ahead of us, eighteen hours at most.

Once the satellite relocated the original group, Balboa asked the techs to focus in as tightly as possible. The only thing the Agent could determine that was 'special' about this bunch is that each camel carried one rider except one that carried two.

The hair on the back of Gibbs' neck stood straight up when Balboa mentioned it. "That's them, Rocky! Give me a heading and stay on 'em if you can! _And don't loose that feed!"_

The little caravan of Land Rovers headed out into the burning desert as fast as the soft sand of the track would allow. Gibbs was like a bloodhound that had caught a scent and he was on the trail.

* * *

Molly and Tim were so tired they could barely stay on their feet when they were pulled from the grumpy camel. They were terribly hungry and so thirsty that their throats ached with raw dryness. They wouldn't last much longer without water.

Molly was especially feeling it. Her much smaller body mass had fewer resources on which to draw, and she could no longer hold herself upright on the camel for more than a few minutes at a time. Why would these morons capture them if they had no intention of keeping them alive long enough to get where they were going?

The question was answered that evening. This group of captors had joined up with another much larger group to great laughter, much back-slapping and camaraderie. In another small tent, time passed before an elderly man who wore a white turban around his head, was led to their tent.

As his black eyes examined them beneath heavy bushy eyebrows, he seemed to be asking questions of this latest set of captors. Answers were given with much shoulder shrugging and a bit of whining, after which the elder waved them away with his hand, then he too left.

Tim was about ready to give up. Molly was lying on the piece of carpet that was their floor and he knew she wouldn't last another day without food and especially water.

He had about made up his mind to exit the tent and demand that they be given both, when a man accompanied by two women carrying trays, appeared at the tent's entrance. Setting the trays on the carpet, the two women left, only to return with armsful of bottled water. Without a moment's delay, they left and the man lowered the tent flap leaving the captives alone once again.

Tim grabbed a bottle, turned it up and gulped it down as fast as a human throat would move. Part of the water dribbled down his chin and neck and wet his already sweat-soaked shirt. The once beautiful epaulets that had once proudly displayed three black and gold bars proclaiming his rank as First Officer was now in a sad state of wrinkled dirtiness and wet with days of accumulated sweat. It had been fun to play international pilot, but now they were trapped in a world of hard, cruel reality.

He opened another bottle and pulled Molly up against himself so she'd be more or less sitting, then put the bottle to her dry, sunburned lips. After a second, her senses rallied enough to recognize the welcome liquid and she didn't stop drinking until the last drop was gone.

She turned sluggish eyes toward her dearest friend, "Where - "

"A new group with us now." Pointing to the trays, he said with a raw throat, "Food, water."

They sat up greedily eating the ever-present fruit, cheese and flatbread that they dipped into olive oil, almost making themselves sick in the process. More water, then they stretched out and closed weary eyes in relief. Maybe they had a chance now.

For several days they traveled with this larger group and were treated better than they had been since this whole desert excursion began, then their previous captors took charge of them again and headed in another direction. Their bruises and pains were just beginning to heal from the abuse to which they had been subjected for the entertainment of the kidnappers. A fist to the face or in the stomach seemed to be good sport to the captors. The more unexpected the attack, the funnier it was. And they enjoyed yanking Mac around by her hair. Barbarians.

Unending hours on that old camel had probably forever cured Tim of seasickness. He didn't even notice the rocking motion anymore. And Molly had about decided that it wasn't just her that camels didn't like, it was humans in general. She had seen more than one handler be hit with what had to be the foulest substance on the planet: huge globs of camel spit.

Tim commented, "You know that's not really spit at all."

Molly just looked at him in silence for a moment. "Tim, only you would know about camel spit."

"But it's true. When a camel gets agitated, it sort of burps up part of the cud from one of its stomachs and can cover the entire top half of a human if it gets a good glob of it."

Molly laughed. "I'll take your word for it. I just don't want to be on the receivin' end of it!"

That night, they again joined forces with yet another group of travelers. This time, it seemed to be a permanent arrangement because the next morning, they remained in camp. At times, different heavily bearded men stuck their heads into the tent to look at them as if they were a novelty of some sort. "Maybe we are," Molly answered Tim's observation.

Thankfully, they continued to receive a little food and enough water to keep them going.

* * *

In Sana'a, Al-Sarafa rallied his men and enough allies to repel the attempted coup by a rival, but he was still galled by the kidnapping of his 'guests.' For a time, he had continued the farce that the Americans were having a wonderful time on their grand sightseeing tour. But he finally gave up the pretense under international pressure, loudly condemning the base louts who had dared to blacken the eyes of a nation now becoming a beacon of kindness and friendship to the entire world. Or something like that. Even the talking heads on TV were rolling their eyes.

So many people around the world had developed such a strong emotional bond with the missing Americans from having followed them for so long on TV, that worldwide public opinion against Al-Sarafa became brutal.

According to Al-Sarafa, he had spared no effort or expense in attempting to locate his guests who had been so barbarically kidnapped, leaving a stain on the honor of all Yemeni that could only be removed by their safe return. Even the lights had been turned off around the hardstand where the white jet now sat ignored in the dark.

* * *

Guided by Balboa's directions from the sat-feed in MTAC, Captain Stancil's White Hat mercenaries pushed hard across the desert. The following night, they were only a few miles from the large encampment, approaching it stealthily. Keeping themselves hidden behind sand dunes, voices were low and quiet. Sound travels a long way in the desert.

They'd wait until the dark hours when the camp would be asleep, then they'd go.

Tony could barely contain himself. He paced up and down in the soft sand, back and forth. Stancil muttered, "Gunny, if you could just find some way to tap into that boy's energy, you'd never have to pay another electric bill in your life."

Gibbs grinned briefly, then his face returned to the superficial calmness that disguised his own pent up energy. Time seemed to pass glacially as every minute took an hour and an hour was almost a lifetime.

Then, faces smeared with camo paint, Gibbs, DiNozzo and Cartwright were joined by the Captain, O'Brien and a dozen more of Stancil's men and began their slow, careful, silent approach toward the camp. Having no intel, they had no idea what camp security might be in place or exactly what they were walking into - though they did know that the tribesmen were well armed.

* * *

In MTAC, the Director, the General, Dr. Holland and Balboa's team watched in silent anxiety as a group of green dots began to move toward the encampment believed to be where the missing agents were being held.

* * *

::

to be continued

::


	7. Chapter 7

.

NCIS

The Carolina Connection Series

Book 2 Part 3

LIFE: VACATION

Chapter 7

The sky was littered with billions of stars, but the moon wouldn't make an appearance this night. The silence was almost unnerving. Only by listening carefully could one detect the very faint sibilant whisper of a slight breeze moving grains of sand across the surface of the desert.

A mile or so in the distance, the muted voices and laughter of men in the large tent encampment could be heard. Most of the Yemeni seemed to be asleep. As soon as the last of them retired for the night, the men lying prone on the sand watching through powerful binoculars would make their slow, careful move forward. The remainder of their number would remain with the Range Rovers as backup support.

One by one the men being watched retired to their tents, then, after a short interval to allow the kidnappers to reach deep sleep, the rescuers began to creep across the desert sand toward their objective. They hadn't been able to pinpoint in which of the tents Molly and Tim were being kept, nor did they know of their condition.

Gibbs was so highly stressed he felt he could explode at any moment, but his unending will power kept himself under control. All of the men were edgy but more than ready to put an end to the hellish ordeal the two prisoners had endured.

Stancil glanced at each one of the men spread out behind him. Each pair had an assignment and knew exactly where they were headed in the camp.

The big fire that had burned in the center of the camp had now been reduced to a mound of glowing coals. So far, there was no sign of anyone about in the camp.

Though the desert's night chill was in the air, Tony's face was wet with sweat. The grains of sand that mixed with the sweat grated uncomfortably against his skin. That he could deal with but he didn't want to encounter one of those hideous, enormous camel spiders he'd been told about or a scorpion called the deathstalker. Oh, thrill! Just not the scorpion, please!

Or the deadly desert cobras! One type was known as the "seven step cobra" because that's as far as you'd get before you dropped dead after being bitten. No, no, no. No snakes, either! And all of them were nocturnal. Great. Just - - great.

Jonathan wasn't any better. He just now reminding himself that living the 'high life', as he called it, had a price and they were now paying it. He didn't care. He only wanted his two teammates safely back with them. He shared Tony's revulsion of the spiders, snakes and scorpions. A shiver involuntarily shimmied its way down his back.

Back home in Texas, he was familiar with all the desert creatures there, but this was a whole new ball of wax. He was seriously wondering what Mrs. Cartwright's baby boy was doing here!

They were getting closer to the encampment by the moment. So far, so good. They hadn't been shot or killed by a some critter they couldn't even see.

Gibbs took one quick moment to double-check his rifle then eased forward with the stealth of a panther. Keeping his respiration quiet, he slipped into place beside the first tent, listening intently. He heard snores emanating from inside. No, unless a guard slept in the tent with his people, this wasn't it. He knew that Molly didn't snore - or least, he'd never heard her.

He looked at his partner and shook his head. Stancil acknowledged his signal and they started toward the next tent. Gibbs was close beside the tent when suddenly gunfire erupted on the other side of the camp. So much for surprise.

Marty O'Brien and his partner had almost literally stumbled over a camp guard who had been lying in the black shadows sound asleep. The startled man's finger jerked on the trigger of his rifle sending a spatter of bullets into the darkness behind the former Marine sergeant.

Marty's partner grunted in pain as one of the bullets plowed roughly through his leg. He dropped to the sand, grimacing as he reached for the bleeding wound. Marty dropped beside him on one knee, whispering quickly, "You okay, man?"

Voice raspy from pain, he responded, "Yeah. Go!"

In the moments after the shots rang out, alarmed Yemeni boiled out of their tents, rifles in hand, eyes darting rapidly about as they searched the darkness for intruders. The dark was definitely the rescuers' friend this time, giving them the advantage of choosing their targets before they were spotted. The faint light from the still-glowing coals in the camp fire provided just the least bit of illumination that allowed them to identify the enemy.

However, the rapid exchange of bullets took their toll on both sides, though the kidnappers' side had the worst of it. Tony's right upper arm took a hit, not life threatening, but it pretty much knocked him out of the fight since damage to the muscles prevented him from grasping either a rifle or other weapon. He gripped the wounded arm tightly to control blood loss as much as possible.

He motioned to Jon to go join up with Gibbs and back him up. Cartwright was reluctant to leave his partner but followed his orders. He had caught a glimpse earlier of Gibbs' silver hair on the far side of the camp and began moving in that direction.

As the Texan slowly edged around one of the big tents, he found himself almost face-to-face with one of the kidnappers and fired reflexively from the hip, watching with a pounding heart as the man dropped. _'Hey, watch it, Cartwright!'_ he warned himself.

His position immediately drew fire from several different enemy positions. He dropped down prone on the gritty sand praying that he wouldn't land on one of the nocturnal creatures, taking what cover he could behind the body of the man he'd just shot.

Returning fire carefully, he effectively shut down two of the opposing positions but couldn't get a good angle on the third. Slowly easing himself out from behind the body, he waited to see if he drew more fire but someone else had cleared it. "Thank you, Brother!" he softly muttered.

As he eased out, making his way to the next tent, a bullet grazed his helmet, shaking the former soldier's confidence for a quick moment. Shaking his head, he automatically dropped and became a fearsome Army Ranger again.

Spotting more muzzle flash, he fired from his sprawled out position, hearing the screams of yells as his ammo found its mark. He had to pause a moment while he rammed a fresh clip into place. Alright! Let's rock and roll!

Yelling in the camp raised the level of confusion, and now Jon wasn't sure where Gibbs was. He continued making his way across the camp to the area he thought Gibbs would be in now. Gunfire was almost constant and it was getting more difficult to figure who was who.

Lots of open space to cross. Not a good idea with all of the enemy now firing from positions in the dark. He stayed in his prone position and began wiggling his way across the sand, praying he wouldn't be seen. He drew some fire, but someone else was now providing covering fire for him so he scooted as quickly as possible to the next tent. With a small grin, he again thanked the unknown marksman in his group who was taking them out.

Jon paused a moment, mentally assessing where he was and where he needed to be. He didn't see a dark, silent shadow slip out of the tent and raise a sharp curved knife until the last second. He wrenched himself to the side and fired his rifle at the same time.

The knife missed its mark by a mile, but the pain in his side was excruciating. He managed to reach the handle of the knife and pull it out. God, it hurt! He rolled over onto his back so he could reach the first aid materials he always carried in one of the cammie's deep pockets.

He didn't think any ribs had been damaged but the muscle damage made moving his torso a hellish nightmare of pain. He stuffed some gauze over the wound, gritted his teeth and moved on, though a red stain grew in size on his blouse.

As he made it to the black shadow behind another tent, he managed to get to his feet, though the pain that now nearly consumed him made him feel as if his stomach was going to revolt any second.

He took another step and literally tripped over Captain Stancil, who was wrapping gauze around his bloody forearm. Stancil gave the agent a dirty look for disturbing him and jerked his head in the direction ahead. "Gibbs," he whispered.

Cartwright finally made it to his feet, then fell back onto one knee.

"You hurt?" Stancil whispered.

"A little," was the response.

"Lemme see."

Cartwright wondered how Stancil was going to see anything in this thick darkness but a tiny penlight that the captain held in his mouth lit up and Stancil checked the wound. "Sliced through a muscle. Gonna hurt like hell." Sprinkling some antibiotic powder on it, the former Marine wrapped it tightly, long strips of gauze stretched all the way around and around his torso giving it a measure of relief, enabling Jon to go back up Gibbs.

Getting back on his feet, Cartwright began to ease out from behind this tent when a bullet whistled alarmingly close to his head.

He quickly stretched out prone on the sand and cautiously peered around the edge of the tent, which drew another shot. Taking a deep breath to ease the pain in his side that ripped through him, he quickly extended himself beyond the protection of the tent and rapidly fired several shots in the direction where he'd last seen muzzle flash. A shrill yelp told him he'd made contact though that was no guarantee that the enemy couldn't still shoot.

A sharp slap on the leg startled the former Army Ranger, sure at first he'd been bitten by something deadly, but then realized it was the retired Marine captain behind him. With hand signals, the captain told him to move over; he'd provide cover for him to make it to the next tent. As soon as the first shot rang out from Stancil's rifle, Jonathan was moving, skidding to a stop in the sand behind a kneeling Gibbs.

After a quickly whispered sitrep, Gibbs nodded and pointed to the next tent ahead. It was much smaller than the others, and Gibbs knew that had to be where Tim and Molly were being held.

Gunfire still rang out back and forth across the camp and no one knew just how the tally stood. Each side hoped they had the upper hand.

Gibbs was relieved to know that Tony and Stancil were both alive in spite of being injured. Moving his mike closer to his mouth, Gibbs whispered, "Base, prepare to recover wounded." The White Hats suffered five wounded, none seriously even if they were painful.

Jonathan made no mention of his own wound.

Those left with the Land Rovers would now bring the transportation forward as quickly as was prudent to be ready to evacuate the injured as soon as word was given.

Others scattered around the perimeter of the camp had figured out Gibbs' location and kept suppressing fire going while he and Cartwright safely made it to the small tent.

Close to the tent, Gibbs whispered loud enough to be heard inside the tent, "Tim! Molly!"

A slight rustling was heard as Tim lifted his head from where he had been covering Molly to protect her from flying lead. "Boss?"

"Yeah. Ya okay?"

"Kinda."

"Okay. Sit tight. We'll be back."

"Got it, Boss."

Tim was never so happy to hear that voice in his life! Molly all but dissolved into tears as she hugged Tim tightly. Jethro was here! How neither could imagine how it had happened but they knew they were now safe.

Gunfire continued for a while longer, but eventually began to die out as the last enemies succumbed to gunfire from the deadly accurate shots of the experienced rescue team. Gibbs' trusty weapon did its deadly work as Cartwright covered him. Then, it was quiet.

Captain Stancil contacted the support team, "Camp secure." The wounded were tended to by the pair of well-trained medics with the team, then loaded into idling vehicles that would take them back to civilization. When the last of the wounded were treated, the captain found himself confronted by a pair of determined medics. He sighed and gave in to the inevitable, submitting to their examination and treatment of his wound.

Gibbs and Cartwright returned to the small tent to see a pair of very dirty, tired, hungry and thirsty people who were grinning from ear-to-ear.

Gibbs grabbed Molly and held her to him fiercely, eyes closed tightly to hide the tears that wanted to be released. Molly said nothing but she didn't need to; her eyes had said it all as she had lifted her arms to him.

"Are you okay?" he whispered into her ear.

"Yeah. I knew you'd come," she whispered back.

"You betcha!"

"Did they - hurt you?"

She shook her head. "Slapped us around, beat and punched us. Tried to carry me by my hair. Withheld food and water until some elder they met up with fed us." Sighing in memory, she commented softly, "But we made it."

"Yes, you did. They didn't know who they were takin' on."

"Tim did it, Jethro. He gave me the strength and courage to keep goin'. Give him the credit."

Meanwhile, Jonathan asked Tim how he was doing.

"Okay, Jon. I think. It was - pretty tough at times. I knew if there was any way possible, Gibbs, Tony and you would get here. Can't wait to hear how it all happened. Where's Tony?"

"He took a hit. Gonna be okay, but it knocked him out of action."

Gibbs looked at both former prisoners, "Ya ready to get out of here?"

Both grinned with immense relief. "You can't imagine," Molly told them as the first sign of tears glistened in her eyes.

Once the known wounded had been cared for, all the Yemeni were checked for survivors; there were none. Each body was dragged to the center of the camp, the location of which was carefully recorded, then the camels were released to wander where they pleased.

In the headlight of one of the Rovers, Gibbs noticed the large red stain on the front and side of Cartwright's fatigue blouse. He glared at the Texan as he pointed to the stain and demanded, "That yours, Cartwright?"

"Yeah. But it'll be okay."

"Ya damn right it will be!" As Gibbs grabbed him by the elbow toward one of the Rovers, he called out, "Medic!" and one ran up immediately.

"This idiot has either been shot or stabbed and thinks it's fine to forego treatment. Do you mind fixin' him up - and ya don't have to be gentle!"

The medic grinned as he led the agent over to a headlight where he could get a good look at the wound. Cleaned, medicated, well bandaged and wrapped securely so provide some immobilization, Jonathan sheepishly approached Gibbs.

"I apologize, Gibbs. Stancil put some stuff on it and wrapped it real tight so I could move a lot better."

"Doesn't matter, Cartwright. You _always_ tell your partner or whoever you're backin' up if you're injured. You know that from the Army. Or didn't the Army teach you that?"

"They did. You're right and I apologize. Lesson learned."

"And don't apologize. Makes you appear weak."

"I don't agree. Admittin' a mistake to somebody takes more courage that ignorin' it and walkin' away."

Gibbs stared at Cartwright a very long moment before comment softly, "Guess it could work that way sometime."

He turned away as a pint-sized grin graced his lips. _'Kid's got guts; willin' to man-up. Tony did good findin' this one.'_

Everyone loaded up and they began the long return trip. It would be a much quicker trip since Abby and Dave had located a paved road that could be accessed from their position. The road would bring them straight back into Sana'a without having to make the terrible trip over the mountains again.

* * *

For days, the rest of the world had been waiting for word on the fate of the kidnaped pilots. It appeared that they had simply vanished. Even Al-Sarafa had stopped his so-called 'news conferences.'

However, had news cameras been at Sana'a airport during the dark hours of the following moonless night, they would have recorded six figures stealthily making their way across the airport property, staying in deep shadows as much as possible. Their destination was a beautiful jet sitting in the dark.

The door was opened and the stairs unfolded welcoming them to its interior, then quickly refolded, closed and locked behind them. There was no time to make a preflight walkaround. They'd just have to hope that the aircraft hadn't been damaged since they last saw it.

In the cockpit, Molly and Tim hurried through checklists in preparation for starting engines. Only very low lights in the cockpit were illuminated, all other lights were kept off, interior and exterior.

Tim listened a moment to each of the various frequencies of Sana'a air traffic control. "No traffic in the area," he told Molly.

She nodded, making a decision. "I'm not usin' the runway. The taxiway is long enough for takeoff since we're light. They're not gonna have a chance to stop us this time!"

Tim nodded in full agreement. "Let's go for it."

Both knew the instant Engine #2 fired up, their time for making a successful escape would begin a rapid countdown.

Ready now to engage the engine, Molly picked up the PA. "Strap in, guys. We're not gonna use the runway so it may get bumpy."

Those in the cabin exchanged a quick glance and gave an extra tug on their seat belts.

"Engine start," Molly ordered quietly and the sequence began. Chills ran all over Tim as the right-side engine spooled up and began its ear-splitting scream.

As quickly as possible, Engine #1 was brought to life and the jet began to move quickly. It seemed as if only a few seconds had elapsed before they heard the sharp increase in pitch of the turbines and they began to move faster and faster and faster through the darkness.

Then the earth fell away from them as the jet climbed at its maximum rate, screaming into the heavens, as a shocked air traffic controller furiously bellowed at them into his mike.

Molly flipped the switches that turned on all the aircraft's lights, inside and out. Tony knew how to lower the cabin lights so she didn't worry about tending to that.

Tim reset their radio frequency to that of the one the FAA used to follow them.

Keying his mike as Molly tended to the After Takeoff checklist, Tim said hopefully, "FAA? Austin? Gulfstream 7700 with you. Do you copy?"

Austin Williams had been almost dozing at the same console he had manned for untold days now. His wife had sent fresh clothes and food, but other than a bathroom break when necessary, he'd not moved from his station, waiting for the call everyone was afraid they'd never hear. He jumped up and grabbed his mike.

 _"TIM!"_ he yelled. _"You're out?"_

"Passing through 38,000 now. Requesting a direct heading to Dubai."

"You got it! Boy, are we glad to hear from you!" Relief was clearly evident in Williams' voice.

"No happier than we are to be out of that place."

"Okay, Gulfstream, your initial direct heading is 045. We'll coordinate with Dubai Approach Control for your arrival. You have clearance to cross the airspace of Saudi Arabia. What is your altitude?"

Glancing at the instrument, he answered, "Level at 40,000, understand heading 045 and clearance across Saudi Arabia."

"Roger, Gulfstream. Have a contact waiting to speak with Captain MacKenzie."

Molly responded, "Good to hear you again, Austin. Standin' by for contact."

A warm, deep, easy-going drawl came through their headsets, bringing smiles with it. "Hey, Mac! How y'all doin'?"

"Okay enough to get the hell outta Dodge, I can tell ya that!"

Laughing, Ken Murchison responded, "We're _sure_ glad to hear ya - and can't wait to hear what happened! First though, all your data still looks real good. What do you show for fuel remainin'?"

"Looks like about 1450 pounds, Ken. I figure about 1360 burnoff on this flight so we oughta be able to _just_ make it. If not, well - I guess your airplane will be out in the desert somewhere just west of Dubai. "

"We aren't even goin' to think about that, Mac. We're showin' right at 1492 pounds which will get you there and we're hopin' you can get a straight-in approach with priority handlin'. Got somebody waitin' for ya there, so don't worry about accommodations, okay?"

"You're so kind to us, Ken. Thanks. I mean it."

"Gotta take care of my favorite federal agent, haven't I? What are your plans after you have a chance to rest up a bit in Dubai?"

"I'm bringin' your airplane back to ya. Dubai to DC is within range. Sure didn't plan on an around-the-world flight, though."

"We can get somebody there to bring it back if you'd rather be a passenger."

"Nope. Still my airplane and I finish what I start. 'Preciate the offer, though."

Ken grinned. "I knew that's what you say. Okay. You got it, girl! Bring 'er home whenever ya feel like it. I know it's in good hands."

"It's a good thing this plane is slated for a new interior, Ken. Nobody has been able to have a bath for days - I don't even know how many - and the desert is hot!"

Murchison laughed hardily. "No worries, sweetheart. All we want is for you and Tim to get back safe and sound."

Her response was soft, "Thanks, Ken. For everything."

"Our pleasure, Mac. Talk to ya, later."

"Roger. Gulfstream 7700 back to FAA."

"Gulfstream 7700, FAA. We have headings to take you straight in with priority. You're still more than an hour away. Will contact as needed."

"Thanks, FAA. You've been - extremely important to us, Austin. Please give our thanks to the others there, as well. We'd like to buy you a cup of coffee if you're ever in DC."

"You're welcome, Gulfstream. And that sounds like a plan."

The radio was quiet except for altitude changes as they got closer to Dubai. On the PA, Molly told the others what the plans were for their arrival and departure when they were ready.

She kept a close watch on the fuel gauges that steadily dropped as the engines greedily sucked the jet fuel down to keep themselves going. It would be close. An engine used more fuel at lower altitudes than at high altitudes - and they were steadily descending into the lower altitudes. Looking at distances remaining and judging the flow out of the tanks, she contacted Ken once more through Austin's connection hub.

"Ken, how's it lookin'? Gettin' awfully low."

"Yeah, we're watchin' it, too, Mac, but all the engineers assure me that you have enough. Might need a sip or two of fuel to make it to the terminal, but we can handle that.

Heads still stuck out into the aisle as the four men in the cabin watched with never-ending fascination as the two agents flew the jet, bringing it in to the staggeringly huge Dubai International Airport with a soft little poof of smoke as the tires kissed the runway.

Ground Control guided them through the maze of taxiways to a terminal set aside just for private aircraft arrivals and VIP flights, known as Al Majalis VIP Pavilion and Dubai Executive Terminal. On the taxiway to the terminal, one engine flamed out. No fuel. The remaining engine took them the rest of the way.

* * *

The hardstand was lit as bright as midday as a plane marshall guided them to their parking place. Molly looked at the fuel gauges and shook her head. There was always fuel in the system itself between the tank and the engines, referred to as 'unmeasurable fuel', but otherwise, she didn't think there was enough left to fill a decent-sized ice tea pitcher. She gave a quiet thanks to the God she believed in, then continued with the last checklist.

Tim left his seat as Molly completed her notes and comments in the ship's log. As he opened the door, he saw several people waiting on the ramp.

The first man up the stairs was none other than Jack Michaels from the Gulfstream facility in Japan. "Jack! Man, is it ever good to see you again!"

Michaels' face was wreathed in a broad smile as he clasped Tim's hand and opposite shoulder. "You can't imagine how happy we are to see YOU! Whenever you're ready, I have transportation for you to a hotel I think you'll enjoy."

Tim grinned. "They may not let us in smelling and looking like we are."

"Don't give it another thought. Nobody expected you to get out fresh as a daisy." Michaels looked at the dirty, beat up uniform shirt Tim was wearing. "Tim, anybody ever tell you that you're really hard on clothes?"

Appearing from behind her First Officer, Molly told him, "We do our best, Jack, but you know how it is. Buy 'em books and they chew the covers."

Jack grabbed her in a huge hug as he laughed from sheer happiness of seeing her again, though she was in no better shape than Tim.

"Mac. I swear, you two have aged me twenty years! But I'm so glad to see you!"

Noticing the men in the cabin, Michaels blinked as he recognized the dirty, uniformed and armed men standing in the aisle.

"Gibbs! Good lord! Wait - I want to hear it all over a steak dinner and a good drink!" He shook hands with Gibbs, DiNozzo and Cartwright before Gibbs introduced Michaels to the fourth man.

"Not sure why but DiNozzo is draggin' this one back home with him. Used to be a good sergeant in the Marine Corps; don't know what we're gonna do with him in DC. Name's Marty O'Brien."

"Welcome, Marty! Everybody ready? Limo is waiting."

A shiny black limousine that met them planeside carried the whole gang to the Al Qasr Hotel which was part of a larger complex of what was euphemistically called "a finer upscale resort for the discriminating that caters to your every whim." In others words, it'll cost a small fortune to stay here.

Molly glanced down at her filthy shirt then cast a hasty look at Jack Michaels who smiled and put an arm around her just as if she was clean and didn't smell like a camel. "No worries, Mac. We have a private entrance."

Gibbs had wondered how the clientele at this ultra-fancy place would react to seeing four dirty, smelly, armed men in military garb with the remains of camo paint on their faces. He was almost disappointed when they were ushered into a private elevator and quickly whisked to an upper floor. He'd have enjoyed seeing that. Since none of them had much in the way of clothing now, they'd probably be confined to their rooms for the duration when they'd be hustled back to the airport and bid farewell.

Tony saw the Boss' eyes and wondered what he was up to; those eyes had a sparkle in them. Well, why not. He'd just been reunited with his wife after days and days and longer nights of wondering if he'd ever see her again.

Marty stayed quiet for a change, waiting to follow the lead of the others in his party. He was happy to have been offered a spot on an MCRT but all this - private jet, teammates who could fly it, priority handling everywhere they went, a private elevator in a lavish hotel that would probably cost more per night than he'd made in six months. This country boy was waaaay out of his league!

The "room" they were shown into was a uber-lavish, sprawling suite that included five spacious bedrooms, each with its own luxurious bathroom and a magnificent common living area that had to be at least forty feet long, covered with thick, velvet-like white carpet. The living area had plasma TVs everywhere, plush furniture on which to sit, several desks, a dining area beside a glass wall that showed off an incredible view of almost limitless blue-tiled pools the size of immense lakes.

Each of them retreated to a bedroom to take long, long, long showers to rid themselves of all the terrible smells they had acquired over the long, nearly two-week saga. Wrapped in thick white Egyptian cotton robes, each was greeted by a tuxedoed tailor and his assistant who were to measure him and her for new clothing.

Molly was shocked but also relieved. She sure hoped they wouldn't be charged for all this extra stuff 'cause sure as shootin' it would max out a credit card in a hurry! She didn't know how Jethro would react. He was still in the shower washing his camo uniform, his rifle leaning against the toilet.

Tony was in his element and the tailor assigned to him was thrilled to have a knowledgeable client. They happily discussed different designers versus others, this material versus that one. The others weren't that fortunate.

Jonathan and Marty were totally bewildered and just let these people do what they wanted then leave.

Tim was like Molly. Clean fresh clothing would be welcome, certainly, but as he looked down at the shabby navy pants and what had once been a shirt he'd cherish for the rest of his life, he knew neither could ever be worn again. That truly made him sad.

He had been glad to hear Mac tell Ken that she was going to take the jet back to DC. At least they'd have that last flight to bring all this to a close. Like she'd said, they flew around the world when they thought they were just going to Vegas.

He laughed. 'Just Vegas.' They'd been thrilled out of their minds at the prospect of making a simple five-hour flight there, land, enjoy a fabulous week in the casinos, seeing shows and maybe gambling a bit. Then they'd make the return trip home.

Who _ever_ would have thought that all this would happen? He shook his head.

* * *

News was getting out about the escape of the two pilots and the media again went into a frenzy. Nobody seemed to know where they were, though some thought they were in Dubai. Reporters snooped like crazy trying to get a lead on where the two might be.

Finally making contact with a tailor's assistant who was satisfied with the sum being offered, the media broadcast their whereabouts.

Thankfully, security in the United Arab Emerites was more than adequate, accustomed as they were to having the wealthy elite of the world vacation in their manufactured paradise. News crews didn't stand a chance of gaining access to the 'hero' guests.

* * *

::

to be continued

::


	8. Chapter 8

.

NCIS

The Carolina Connection Series

Book 2 Part 3

LIFE: VACATION

Chapter 8

~ EPILOGUE ~

The following morning, dressed in crisp new Gulfsteam aircrew uniforms for the last time, Tim and Molly sat in the cockpit of the jet, ready to make the long twelve-hour flight to DC. They exchanged a smile that said everything that needed to be said as complete understanding was exchanged. This would end their long ordeal then they would begin the transition into becoming the agents they were.

Jack Michaels had been a superlative, thoughtful host and it was a little difficult to leave him standing on the hot hardstand.

The evening before, beautiful leather bags were delivered to the suite for their clothing, compliments of the Emir of UAE. Each person's name was beautifully engraved into the leather in classic script. What a terrific 'go bag' they would make.

This morning, the hotel doctor had visited their suite to attend to the wounded, checking injuries and putting on fresh dressings. Tony wasn't even complaining about wearing a sling for his arm. It may not be a really serious wound but the slightest movement of his arm hurt more than he wanted to admit.

Jonathan refused to complain but it would feel really, really good to recline one of those soft leather seats and not move his torso for a while.

With everyone on board, the door locked into place, the shining jet was serviced and ready to go. Molly had filed her flight plan earlier, and a plane marshall was standing by.

With a smile, she asked Tim softly, "Ready to go again?"

He grinned. "Yeah. You know, I can't remember doing anything except helping in this cockpit."

"Believe me, you were doin' much more than just helpin'. I really couldn't have done it without ya, Tim, and I mean that. I've never had a First Officer who did any better. Now. Ready to launch this thing?"

Tim's fair complexion was tinted pink from her compliment but he answered with a happy smile, "Yes, ma'am! One Before-Start Checklist coming up!"

Their departure from Dubai was thoroughly documented and filmed by the many reporters and newshounds who had waited to see them from an observation deck. For sure they couldn't get any closer but their colleagues would be waiting for them in DC.

After climbing to their assigned altitude, Molly put the jet on AutoPilot and sighed. "Wanna go back for a while? We have twelve hours of this. May as well break it up."

"A little later. I'm comfortable here for now."

"Me, too. Heck of a vacation, wasn't it?"

"Well, it did get a little interesting there for a while."

There was a pause.

"Tim? Thank you. For all you did, for keepin' me safe, keepin' me in line. I won't forget."

Tim looked at the sincerity in her soft brown eyes and reached for her hand. "Mac, I couldn't have lasted without you there. I would have become the old weak McGee who couldn't even talk without stuttering. It would have been so easy just to give up. I guess we needed each other."

"I'm just very glad you were there."

Gibbs brought them some fresh coffee he'd just brewed and some of the fresh-baked pastries that had been boarded. There were other trays in the chillers loaded with delicacies that very, very rich people probably took for granted. But this crowd would make short work of them. Molly had reminded them that this would be a twelve-hour flight so they'd better pace themselves and not gobble up everything to begin with. And save some for the crew!

The radio interrupted their conversation to give them a new heading. There was very little traffic at this altitude so there wouldn't be a lot to do until they got closer to the US and had to descend to lower, more congested altitudes, then Tim would have his work cut out for him. And he'd love every minute of it, pushing himself to meet every challenge without failure. Nobody else had to know, but he would. And he'd know he'd done it well.

Their arrival at Ronald Reagan National Airport in Washington was smooth and easy as they taxiied to the private aircraft ramp at the eastern end of the airport. Each set of the inbound controllers had been very professional but had added a quiet personal word like 'Welcome back' or something similar made Molly and Tim smile. It was good to be thought of.

Molly followed the plane marshall's wands in parking where he directed, then they shut down the jet for the last time. Molly made her final notes in the ship's log and signed her name. Then she handed the big metal-bound log to Tim, pointed to the bottom of the page where she had signed her name, saying, "I want you to sign it, too. You were vitally important to this flight, Tim."

Tim looked at her with tears glistening in his eyes and swallowed hard as he signed Tim McGee, First Officer. It was now a legal document and he was officially named as First Officer. It was a momentous realization for him and it could never be disputed.

Getting out of the cockpit with the big logbook in hand, Molly opened the door and stairs. Familiar faces were smiling as crowd gathered behind the fences applauded and cheered. "Tim!" she called, and he joined her there. It was all too much to take in at the moment, but in the quiet hours of the night, they could relive it.

Three men waited at the foot of the stairs for them to deplane.

The Secretary of the Navy stepped forward first, smiling broadly with his hands extended. "Welcome back, you two! Quite an adventure you've had."

Molly's mouth felt a little dry. "Thank you, sir. A whole lot more than what we had anticipated."

Next up was Director Morrow who looked like he was about to pop the buttons on his shirt with parental pride in his 'kids'. He wanted to grab them in a big hug but that wouldn't look just right on all the TV screens on which this was being shown.

He gave them warm words but knew he'd have the opportunity to speak more with them later.

Then, a grinning Ken Murchison swept Molly up in a huge hug and shook Tim's hand. "Lordy mercy, if you two aren't a sight for sore eyes! I don't even know where to start!"

Molly, smiling back, told him, "Why don't you sign off the log book and take back responsibility for your airplane? Hope the owners aren't too mad."

Signing his name at the bottom of the page beneath Molly's name, Ken told her, "Oh, we got them another jet and they're happy with it. Dunno what we're gonna do with this one. It's one of the most famous aircraft in history now, ya know that? Might put 'er in the Smithsonian. Haven't decided."

Turning serious, he was intense as he spoke to them. "Y'all will never know all you've done, what you have accomplished in the most heroic, honorable and memorable way possible. I'll go further into that later, right now there's a bunch of people who want to welcome you back."

He gave Molly another generous hug and planted a kiss on her forehead, and shook Tim's hand with both of his.

Then, it seemed that everybody from NCIS was there behind the fences. They waved and laughed as they recognized different ones, then they collected their new leather bags and entered the quiet of the small terminal.

All of this just didn't feel right. They were out of sync with everything around them. Their bodies would have to readjust to Eastern Time and they'd have to let their minds have time to leave the past behind them so they could get back to their own futures.

They couldn't break apart into individuals yet. They still belonged to be together for a while.

Gibbs spoke up, "My house. Now."

Smiles broke out on jet-lagged faces. They were still a unit for a while longer.

On the way home, Gibbs pulled into a market and selected some beautiful steaks and a few things to go with them. Then, it was to Mr. Jenkins' house to get Roger.

When the old Marine answered the door, tears were still wet on his face as he just reached for Mac to hug her. Holding her by her shoulders, he told her with a slightly wavering voice, "Mac, I've prayed and prayed and prayed for you, my dear. This has been a long two weeks, but I am overjoyed to have you safely home." In the background, his TV voiced talking heads marveling over the arrival of the two pilots and debated about who their four escorts might have been, what this flight might mean to people in the future and anything else they could think about to prolong the event a little longer, boosting ratings all the while.

They visited with the very kind man for a while, then collected an ecstatic Roger and went home.

Most of the others were already there, making themselves at home. Joining them were Ducky and Jimmy, and Dave Holland; Abby was still on duty in the lab. The Director arrived shortly afterward and was welcomed to their number.

Tony and Marty had already started the big backyard grill so the coals would soon be ready.

As they sat around after eating, the six involved with the ordeal slowly began talking with each other a bit. Molly was astounded to learn that Jethro, Tony and Jon had been in Tokyo. When asked how on earth he managed that, he just shrugged and let that one annoying little smile out to play as he said very softly, "Know some people." And he refused to tell her any more, knowing it would bug the daylights out of her. The investigator in her wouldn't rest until she knew. He just wondered how long it would take her.

They were nowhere near ready to fully debrief yet, but they were making the first steps towards returning to what Tony dubbed 'real life.'

While the agents were involved in that transition, Marty O'Brien was making his way through FLETC like he had written the courses himself. When he finished, he would formally be offered a place on what was now officially Robert Johannson's team and would accept with greatest delight.

Much later when each one was ready, a formal debriefing would take place in MTAC. Those who were in a position to participate were many and scattered. MTAC was the only place to do it.

When it took place, the full story was told, each one telling his or her role from his or her point of view. And it took a long time to tell. After the tale was told, questions were taken from interested parties, people or entities who had played some part in the adventure, such as Gulfstream, the FAA, etc.

Asked why she had opposed efforts to "take out" the hijacker from the beginning, Molly answered, "Sir, there are many things I still want to do, see and accomplish in this world. Allowin' myself to be blown up in an airplane has never been one of them. Firearms and high octane fuel simply do not mix. Not on the ground and certainly not eight miles above the earth. My decision and I stand by it."

By the time it was over, they were completely drained from reliving the entire thing.

Gulfstream Corporation decided that there was really only one place that One Niner-Foxtrot, the proper designation of the 650 Molly and Tim had flown, belonged - so the title was transferred to the Director, Naval Criminal Investigative Service, Washington, DC.

The day following the MTAC debriefing, Tim and Molly sat on the floor in the living room trying to figure out how to write up their report.

Tim made the frustrated comment, "How can you put something like this in just a report?"

Molly turned and looked at him a moment as a smile slowly formed on her lips and her brown eyes began to sparkle. "You don't, Tim. _It's a story!_ And there's only one way to tell it."

Tim's green eyes grew large as the implication of her words sank in. Yes!

And they began the process of co-authoring _"The Story of Gulfstream 7700",_ a book that set records and spent a little over two years on the New York Times Best Seller list.

~ Finis ~

* * *

Author's Notes:

Thanks so very much for reading my story. I truly hope you've enjoyed it! Special thanks to you who have reviewed and left your comments. I treasure them because they are the only way to measure the success or failure of the story I wanted to tell. And without your encouragement, I'm not sure how far I'd make it. As many of you know from personal experience, writing can be a real challenge at times!

What's next? I'm not quite sure. There hasn't been a lot of feedback from the 6 stories of the series, so I'm not sure if I'll continue it or not. I would like to add at least one more 3-part book to it, but - I'm just not sure.

All errors are mine and usually depend on how much of the pain meds I'm on. Tony is not the only one who gets loopy! :-)

Many, many thanks!

 _To guest Liz ,_ thank you so very much for your very kind comments! They have absolutely made my day. Your reactions are what I was so HOPING to achieve. You are the reader for whom I wrote this. You got it! I'm on cloud nine so I can't tell you what your reviews have meant to me. THANK YOU!

 _Liz_ : You actually have given me some ideas and I'm playing with an outline now. It may be a little while before anything is ready to be posted, but don't give up! Wish there was a way we could communicate PM. Thanks so very much!

'Wings


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